


Crossing Over

by wickedrum



Category: Outlander (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Redemption, Sickfic, War, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-15
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-08-15 05:35:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 20
Words: 26,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8044369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wickedrum/pseuds/wickedrum
Summary: Jamie may have sent her, but Claire never made it to the twentieth century. Instead, she has to work on springing him from Wentworth once more. Same jailer, starkly different circumstances.





	1. Mutant

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimers: This is for the sake of further protest against having had my favourite character killed off by Diana Gabaldon. When I am writing, it's mainly for my own pleasure. It's what I'd like to see happen so when I reread in a few months, years later, thus I find a story that is completely to my taste. ;)  
> Genre: G, redemption, sickfic.  
> Rating/Warning: some adult themes, nothing major.  
> Set: Briefly after Culloden, showverse. AU from that moment.  
> Main Characters: Jack Randall and Claire Fraser  
> Pairing: as canon. So just to make it clear, I will not deviate from traditional pairings, but the focus will not be on Claire/Jamie romance.

Chapter 1: Mutant

The horrifying, claustrophobic, drowning screech of the stones, each one joining in with an additional voice that spread horrors without appealing to any other of her senses than sound, a cacophony of terrors Claire assumed would characterise the eternal damnation of hell that gave the sense of having went on for eternity as well, while she knew it could've only really lasted seconds. They have taken hold of every fibre of her being, tearing, resonating in all directions. It shouldn't have scared her as much as the first time because she now knew it was the time vortex's doing, losing all her senses till it became clear the auditory sensation didn't actually originate from her ears, but the chaotic bizarreness was overwhelming. Her mind, as if protecting itself against the outlandishness, tried to find focus in a world it had no means to grip and so it latched onto one word, the word that meant the most to her: Jamie.

 

The next instant she found herself outside the stone circle, lying in deep, wet grass, unpleasant enough for her to attempt to shake the time travel sickness and disorientation and roll onto her knees. It was now quiet around her, bar for the natural sounds of the woods in spring. Claire tried to take stock of her surroundings, the trees, the undergrowth, the type of saplings, the age of the wood. Of course, there could have been new trees popping up at any time in history, but this scene seemed remarkably similar to the one Jamie had left her in, with no drivable road to speak of nearby. She couldn't afford herself hope though, it would've been too crushing to find otherwise, or land in a time that was so close but yet so far. Instead, she concentrated on getting herself out the brambles and the screen on nettles and into the direction her and Jamie had come from, although she was not sure whether she should head back to Drummossie where the Jacobite troops had been stationed, Culloden itself or Inverness. Once reaching a clearing, the town she could see now in the distance and judging from that she could be certain she could have not travelled far in time.

 

The discovery energised her as much as it worried her, though both conflicting state of minds ultimately gave her the strength to be able to run, further and faster than she otherwise would have, wearied and hungry and pregnant as she was. She did not think to stop till she saw another soul, three souls in fact as the case happened to be. Two women of childbearing age and a younger boy, trudging through the undergrowth themselves towards Inverness.

 

Claire came to a halt and paused behind a larger tree, having had long learnt her lesson that in certain times and ages you make sure those you encounter are friendly before you impose yourself on them. She waited till the company got closer. She could hear them talking, one of the women wailing even as she walked, the other encouraging her with an accent that was clearly from around here and hopefully, from the eighteenth century. Any longer she could not wait to demand certainty. "What year is this? What is the date today?" She bounded in front of them, not minding the musket that was shoved in her face by the young man of the company, or more like a boy, who could have been no more than thirteen or fourteen.

 

"That's some strange request ye have there, lass," commented the woman she had previously heard talking.

 

"I am aware it might not be the best starter of a conversation, but believe me, it is really important I shall find that out as soon as possible," Claire tried to talk herself out the pit her rashness caused.

 

"Are ye on yer own?" The woman peered round, "ye dress Scottish but ye sound English and it's no verra prudent of a Sassenach to gaun an' show hersel around here on her own ye ken!" She nodded towards the firearm rather animosely.

 

"Nah, I ken her, ma," the young man waved her down and lowered his weapon too, "she's Red Jamie's wife, the beaton, god keep her healing hands. Patrick Dunmaglass, of Clan Chattan's Regiment," he presented himself.

 

"Aye, and just young enough to pretend ye were never there! Thank heavens yer a rickle a bones that shows for it." The mother admonished pointedly, "now get on wi' it!"

 

Claire however did not pay attention to her. The time frame had to be really close, or did the battle not even happen yet, "what is the date pray tell?" She insisted.

 

"It'd be the 19th of April, 1746, why ye ask?" The young man's mother was still somewhat mistrustful and who could blame her.

 

"I'd reckon it would be the 20th by now," the boy corrected.

 

"If yer a charmer as they say," the previously crying woman joined in the conversation for the first time to address Claire, "there are a great many needing tending down in Inverness, in secret of course, for the English are scouring the town for escapees."

 

Claire nodded tensely, more to get on with her questions rather than acknowledge the need, "Jamie. Do you ken if he lives?"

 

Patrick shook his head sadly, "I'm sorry M'am, I do not ken. The gravely wounded officers were shot on the day, some say it was an act of mercy, some not. Those who would maybe live, they were captured and taken as prisoner, taken in various directions, to be judged or executed, would be hard to say who went where seeing how I was keeping to hiding for the first two days," he appeared apologetic and ashamed of the fact.

 

"What would become of yer brothers an' sisters without yer help if ye didn't!" The mother would not accept his stupid, manly, Scottish pride that told him he should've stayed with his regiment even in death. "You are the man of the house now that yer father in dead."

 

"Did you see any of the Frasers or the MacKenzies?" Claire tried further.

 

"Someone may ken about Red Jamie where we're heading," the mother offered, "and as Nairne had said, she had lost her man, but many be needin yer help down there," she ventured close now, seeing her distress and recognising her being in a similar situation to them, "come along now, ye will be safe wi' us, as long as we keep off the roads."

 

Claire continued to nod, pensive. In some ways she felt similar to how disoriented she had been after her first time through the stones, even though she had jumped a mere three or four days this time, depending on whether Patrick or his mother was right about the date. It was a pretty pointless jump, going through the horror for that amount of time and in some ways she felt guilty that she had failed Jamie, went against his wishes. But then again, this time travel thing was never in her control. Could she really help it if instead of Frank, her mind drifted to Jamie instead? That must have been how she ended up back here. None of this really mattered though, not if all was lost anyway. Nairne started crying again and Claire felt like joining in.

 

tbc


	2. Drag

Chapter 2: Drag

 

The trek on foot would've taken them a few hours under optimal circumstances. Having to keep off the road, it was twilight by the time they reached town and by this time Mrs. Dunmaglass was looking for somewhere inside to shelter in the earnest in case her son was recognised by a member of the occupying army. Claire was also looking for familiar faces, for different reasons, searching through the visibly quieter streets than they have been a week ago, rushing ahead, hoping to find someone back at the fateful house the MacKenzie brothers' fate was sealed before they could ever join in a battle. She pushed up the hill, her worries still fuelling her despite her hunger and the long walk afore, maddened by the possibility that there may be no one there at her destination to give her answers. 

 

The town was indeed flooded with English soldiers, mostly wandering around informally rather than on any mission, in sharp difference to how they would only show themselves incognito before the battle. She avoided their eyes on a couple of occasions, but searched every face she encountered on the streets in detail otherwise, too enveloped in the task to notice the naturally occurring mudslide that often made the incline unsafe to hide without taking particular care. 

 

“Claire? Are you alright?” It seemed like it was Mary Hawkins, or well, Mary Randall now, who was offering a hand to pull her out the mud, appearing from behind her, also trudging up the hill.

 

“Mary? You are still in town?” Claire wondered on turn, taking stock of the mud damage to her clothes. It will feel rather soggy and icky for a while, but once it will dry, she will be able to rub out most of the dirt. 

 

“What are you doing here?” Mary took her by the arm and round her back, turning her slightly away from the group of redcoats flocking towards a drinking establishment at the other side of the street. “You are headed right towards Cumberland's headquarters.” She questioned as they restarted their trek. 

 

“Where have the taken residence?” The older of the two women looked at her confused. 

 

“The very estate house the Jacobite leaders were at previously.” 

 

Claire shook her head to disregard the latest bad news, “have you seen any of Jamie's men? Jamie?” She hoped. 

 

Mary shook her head sadly, “I'm sorry Claire, I haven't. I haven't had much contact with the Scots,” she elaborated, which of course made sense. “But...maybe John will know something if you could get him to talk. If anyone can, it's you.”

 

“John?” Claire stopped in her tracks to face her, “John is alive?” It felt like her heart had stopped too to accommodate for the possibility that maybe perhaps some historical things would be changed and then maybe there was hope for Jamie too. 

 

Mary gave her version of a shy shrug, which was more like a frown and one shoulder moving up, “for the moment. The army surgeon was sure he will not survive his injuries. I have just been to arrange for last rites,” she said dispirited. It seemed like administering laudanum and calling for a minister is all she had been doing lately. 

 

“What kind of injuries are those?”

 

“Shot, in the stomach.”

 

“Oh.” A wound like that in the eighteenth century meant death after all. It was either that the historical records were wrong about the exact date or some minor factor changed to make him last a few days longer, but he would be dying as a result of the battle all the same. 

 

“That is true, right? There is nothing that could be done,” Mary pressed benevolently. Despite how he's reacted to his grief over losing his brother, to Mary he was still the kind relative who was the only one to provide for them, the one who married her only because his brother asked. 

 

“Not likely,” Claire agreed. Not as if she was going to break her back trying to help him, but she needed to see him nevertheless. “I will have a look,” she heartened her. 

 

“You should stay with us, at the boarding house. There aren't many dwellings not occupied by soldiers, but McGilvrey's was full to start with and could not offer more housing. You will need to stay somewhere now won't you, with none of your kin around.”

 

“That would be helpful,” the older of the two Englishwomen admitted, letting herself being turned into the direction mentioned, “thank you very much, Mary,” she felt grateful in the earnest. She hadn't always treated the younger woman with the regard and kindness she deserved and was inclined to make amends. “I am very sorry, for everything,” she squeezed the hand the newlywed had on her arm as they walked arm in arm. 

 

Mary shook her head and pursed her lips, clearly battling with emotions that threatened to overwhelm. It was a while before she replied, “I understand now what you meant, with Alex being too sickly to provide for a family, but if I knew that to start with, I wouldn't change a thing, I would have still been here to take care of him while possible.” 

 

“I do not doubt it. I should've never made that decision for you, it wasn't my place. Not to mention that trying to change history is a futile task, I know that now.” At Mary's confused look she added, “I said it was complicated and I shall explain it to you one day perhaps. In fact you deserve an explanation, though I am not sure you will believe it, it is not an ordinary story.” Frank's existence seemed safe as things stood, so why not. 

 

“I will have you know, I do not believe in witches,” the young woman ascertained. 

 

“What makes you say that?” Claire responded startled. 

 

“There was a lot of gossip at Madame Rohan's,” Mary lowered her voice, somewhat embarrassed. “But I know you, your kindness. Alex wouldn't let me think of you otherwise, even when I was upset you have broken us up. I know what life can throw now, I won't judge,” she put forward.

 

“Oh, Mary,” Claire felt the urge to hug the shorter woman. Mary might have been through quite a lot lately, but she still sounded relatively naïve. “We really need to talk. I don't feel comfortable accepting your kindness if you don't know everything.”

 

“Alright,” the baronet's daughter agreed, “but not now. I don't want to leave John alone for long. I know I can't help him, but it doesn't feel right, leaving him to his torturous pains, mortally wounded,” she pulled at Claire's arm to hurry her.

 

Tbc


	3. Assemblage

Chapter 3: Assemblage

 

Taking the stairs up to the second level room the Randalls have been renting for weeks now at McGilvrey's boarding house, Claire felt conflicted once more when dealing with the family. Judging by her own emotional response to Mary's expression of weariness, she didn't need to be a witch to predict that she will likely be roped into helping the man she hated most in the world, ease his pain, vitalise him enough to make him talk, and then smooth his journey into the next world. It was probably in her own interest too, in the case Jack did know something about Jamie. She swallowed down the bitter taste and sense of wrongness for the moment. It was very possible Jack would've been looking for Jamie in particular on the battlefield and so this was a barter she was willing to make.

 

The room was quiet on their arrival bar for the crackling of the fire and the muted noises of the street. Its occupant lay motionless and with his eyes closed on the very deathbed on his own brother just a few days before, so pale as he could've been mistaken for a corpse himself, haggard, weary and marked by pain that additionally manifested as a sheet of sweet on his forehead, his features eerily evocative of the body he had beaten up himself, right there, in a white undershirt that may as well be exactly the same. It all seemed quite so unJacklike as he lay there, defenceless and gravely ill that Claire almost laughed at it surreality. 

 

It was clear though that the picture made the exact effect on Mary such a sight would on any other person. She had to pause, swallow and visibly turn it over in her head and convince herself of the reality, that this wasn't Alex, but his brother, “are we too late? Is he..is he dead?” She took a few, hesitant steps forward. 

 

It took Claire considerably less time to get over the surprise regarding the familiarity of the picture so at this point she was already at the bed, studying its occupant. She shook his head, “his breathing is shallow, but he is breathing,” she established. That aspect at least was nothing like what Alex had experienced, Jack didn't seem to have difficulties catching a breath. Pushing past her revulsion to touch the man, she pinched his thin wrist in between two fingers. It would be enough to take his pulse, or so she had thought as she had to readjust and readjust again to finally find the flimsy thrum, fast and missing a beat once in a while. “He had lost a lot of blood?” It was more of a statement than a question however as she barely glanced at Mary for confirmation. 

 

“That and the inflammation, I was told will carry him off soon,” the younger woman confirmed. 

 

“He doesn't seem overly feverish,” Claire put a hand on the man's jawline to check, then pulled it away as if burnt by fire, one that had nothing to do with temperature when he moaned and sluggishly orientated his opening eyes at the intruder. 

 

As always when the two of them met, they shared a long look where they measured each other up and took in the situation, usually with a weight attached to it if Jack and Claire happened to occupy the same space. He didn't seem very quick or proficient with his part of the assessment however, blinking in confusion, “Claire?” 

 

She allowed herself a moment of superiority and fulfilment. “I need to ask you a few questions.” 

 

“I did not die on the 16th of April, 1746,” he declared, allowing himself some satisfaction in her being wrong before he admitted, “though I believe that is a trivial detail.” His eyes were shining, either with amusement over his own situation or fever. 

 

Mary was a little confused by the statement, but she knew some people were very strange on their deathbed and John was like that already to start with according to allusions that Alex had been dropping here and there. “Are you in a lot of pain?” She eyed his weakly clenching fist. Alex used to do that a lot too. “I could give him some laudanum,” she offered, looking at Claire for approval. Her expertise she always trusted.

 

“Alright,” Claire didn't bother to check how much and when he last had it. She should be done with him in a few minutes anyway for as much as she needed him. 

 

“Your magic isn't fail safe,” Jack whispered while Mary was at the other side of the room, getting the box she kept her leftover medicines in. 

 

“I'm sorry about that,” the time traveller declared sarcastically, “but as it stands, current circumstances allow god to give you further possibility for redemption.”

 

“You and I both know redemption is not an option in my case, let's not pretend. I thought you to be above that, Claire Fraser.”

 

“Here,” Mary knelt beside the bed to be in a better position to help his head up the pillow and the pain reliever to his lips. He appeared indeed very weak and feeble, his forehead creasing as the movement inevitably jostled his abdomen a little. She waited till he calmed after being let down into his pillows again, “John, Claire is here to see if you have any idea what happened to her husband. Have you seen him on the battlefield?” She prompted. 

 

Jack's eyes lingered on Claire contemplatively before he answered, “yes.” 

 

The one syllable contained so much slyness of his habitual malice that she felt the need to immediately round on him, “did you kill him!” 

 

His eyebrows rose slowly, questioningly, “kill him? I do not know when I gave you that impression. Killing Jamie Fraser was never my intention.” 

 

“You duelled with him for one,” she argued. 

 

“If you remember, I wasn't the one challenging and what's more, omitted putting up a decent fight, with disastrous consequences. In fact bleeding out in the presence of one James Fraser has become quite a habit of mine.”

 

“Was he the one who shot you?” Claire guessed the quite likely possibility.

 

“Not exactly.” 

 

The healer felt like smothering him to death. For someone who was supposed to be dying, he was surely playing a fine time lag game when he was clearly able to speak longer for the moment, quiet as it may be. “Is he alive?”

 

“He had been hit in the head gravely enough to halt his escape, but he was alive last I saw him, yes. I had him, hole in my gut notwithstanding.” Jack seemed fond of the memory. 

 

“Where is he!”

 

“Wentworth.”

 

“You shitehawk bastard!” Claire spat, forgetting Mary's cluelessness regarding her and Jamie's relationship and history with Jack. The younger woman pulled back further as a result, only surveying the scene, trying to get her bearings, looking from one to the other. 

 

Jack scoffed in the heat of the moment, also forgetting that such an act would set off the cramps in his abdomen. He could only pant his next sentence, “would you have preferred I let them ask him his name and drag him away to be shot on the spot for being one of the Jacobite leaders?”

 

“So you hit him in the head?” 

 

“For his own protection. Chopped his hair off too so he wouldn't be immediately thought to be Red Jamie.”

 

“You chopped....!” Claire was half appalled, half baffled as she drew in a halting breath. She felt like hitting him and swearing at him and was only thwarted by the fact that they weren't alone. 

 

“In the inside of my coat,” he indicated, slightly moving his head towards the object.

 

“I have washed that...” Mary started a great deal confounded.

 

Jack shook his head, “not an obvious inside pocket. There is a tear at the right side, at the armpit inside.” He seemed excited, and revitalized by its pull. Withal, he could only point by raising a hand a mere inch. 

 

Claire was at the item of clothing in an instant, turning it and ram-shaking it till she pulled out the tangle in question, suddenly weighed down by what was two full handful of her husband's red curls. She plopped back down with the daze of it. What she was holding so precious and yet so useless. There was dried blood in it too, though not enough to worry her that way.

 

“I didn't notice that tear,” the younger woman marvelled, with nobody listening. 

 

Claire looked up at Jack, not quite sure if she could believe him. “Why?” 

 

“Without it he was just an ordinary soldier to be sent to Wentworth.”

 

“You suggest the notion that you have saved his life and want me to thank you for it?”

 

“You act like that was the first time.” Jack seemed rather aggravated.

 

“It wasn't?”

 

“I have to assume he omitted to mention that the noose was round his neck when I arrived and stopped him from being hanged with the other captives awaiting execution at Wentworth.”

 

“Maybe because your actions are so contradictory?” She noted sarcastically, “what will happen to him there?”

 

Jack moved his head minutely in a displeased manner, “I bought him some time and maybe a proper trial. But they will come for him, sooner or later.”

 

“How much time?” She pressed. 

 

“A few weeks perhaps, maybe more.”

 

“What would be your authority status there,” Claire demanded, “shall you decide to give orders again as you please.”

 

“I don't think a letter from a dying officer would do you any good.”

 

“Maybe not, but you could do whatever you wanted if you were present, just like before.”

 

“How could he go to Wentworth?” Mary stepped in and leaned closer, not liking the atmosphere between those two, especially the way Claire regarded him. She understood that their past was less than rosy, but this was John, her and Alex's benefactor and she felt protective towards him now. “He is very ill. I thought you were going to help?”

 

Claire pulled back, as if only now becoming aware of the younger woman's presence. Then she became animated and eager, set on a goal, “I will help. As I can see, immediate fever is not a concern. It is secondary infection, inflammation,” she corrected for the sake of the other two's understanding, “that will be the concern. But those take time to run their course, so at the very least, I am certain I can prolong his life. Is the bullet still inside?”

 

“I think so,” Mary answered guardedly still, “and there is no exit wound.”

 

“The surgeon said it would do me no good to take it out,” Jack was also guarded and suspicious. 

 

“It is good they left it in,” the healer agreed, “I wouldn't trust their methods. Too messy and unclean,” she pulled at the covers Jack was blanketed with. The thick bandages were soaked through with blood under, but astonishingly, she could not smell the telling putridity of gangrene and death. He must have maybe been lucky enough not to puncture any bowels or other organs that would spill inside the abdominal cavity and cause the fatal peritonitis those shot in the stomach usually perished in. She did not need to look under to know that with some luck, she could save him. “Mary, I want you to write a list for the apothecary for pain relief and everything else we need to get the bullet out, treat the wound and heal him.” At her hesitation, she placed a hand on hers, “this time, I can do something Mary.” The newly married woman displayed her trust in nodding and standing to look for ink. 

 

Claire leaned close to Jack again to whisper, “I am lifting your curse, for a price. Jamie's life for yours.” 

 

tbc


	4. Fortune Telling

Chapter 4: Fortune Telling

 

Claire was holding Jack's wrist and taking his pulse many times over, somewhat worried. While she had assured herself that extensive infection wasn't a primary concern for the moment, blood loss could still be. The stethoscope hasn't been invented yet, but she could tell from the skin signs, capillary refill measurements and the quick pulse that the long talk had significantly weakened Jack and she was still to perform surgery on him that day, most likely with further blood loss. 

 

Despite the turmoil of having her around, he had fallen into a fretful sleep straight after Mary left to the apothecary, the creases on his forehead, his moans, alternatively trembling and fisting fingers and erratic breathing making it clear that the reason for his restlessness was pain. Serves him right, was Claire's first reaction, and the one after some consideration too. Besides, she wasn't going to use the laudanum on him now when she will need it for the operation later. 

 

“I got everything you asked for.” Mary turned into the room with noticeable hope and some liveliness in her voice, for the first time since Claire's re-encounter with the Randalls. She had told the poor girl too she would save her husband even though that man should not be allowed to live and impose himself on a society that while dubious and cruel, will never be able to defend itself from someone as pure evil as Jack. Claire felt as conflicted as ever when it came to Mary after she had found out her heritage and guilty as sin for giving Jack the chance to perhaps harm the younger woman further down the line. But that was a problem for another day. For now, she had to concentrate on getting Jack better and consequently, Jamie out of prison before it was too late. 

 

“I have lit every candle I could find and some I asked for from your landlady. You will still need to hold one close while I'm working so I can see well enough,” Claire urged the petite woman in, “I have also boiled the instruments I need. Wash your hands with soap and we can start when you're ready?”

 

Mary threw down her coat and complied without any thought to question her methods, “you really think John will recover if we do this?”

 

Claire sighed. Explaining to Mary the nature of Jack's character wasn't her place, but she would do it if it would be beneficial. It was possible however that his love for his brother would extend to the woman Alex loved and therefore filling Mary's head with horrors was the last thing that should be done. Their relationship could be more smooth if she knew nothing. “I cannot guarantee that Mary, but he has a much better chance,” she heartened. 

 

Mary stepped closer, hesitating once more, “he seems worn out. Shouldn't we leave him to rest till tomorrow?”

 

The healer contemplated for a moment. Daylight would've given her better sight to perform what she needed to do, but if her hunch was correct, the wound wouldn't be too deep, it couldn't be, otherwise peritoneal inflammation would've already set in. “The sooner we can close the wound, the less likely the fever will return,” she decided. It's not like Jamie's fate could wait.

 

“I'll get the dose of laudanum mixed up with gin,” Mary offered next.

 

“You can get it ready, but don't give it to him just yet. Let him rest for now, he will wake soon enough on his own from the pain I'm afraid.” While she had no scruples about repaying some of the anguish Jamie had to suffer at his hands, she found the ways of the century rather barbaric in terms of pain relief in general. 

 

“What can I do?” The brave young woman asked while Claire undressed the injury again.

 

“A candle in one hand and hold him down with the other.”

 

“He's usually too weak to raise his head,” Mary offered the facts.

 

“In that case, just try to keep his hands out of the way, we need to keep the site clean,” she explained while using a solution of water, alcohol and vinegar to disinfect the area, eliciting Jack's breathing to go shaky, but he didn't open his eyes. Claire paused and took his pulse again, not liking his lack of appropriate reaction. 

 

“Something wrong?” His wife in name pressed. 

 

“You might be right and he might be too weak for all of this,” Claire admitted, “but I have to try.”

 

“Alex had always said that his brother was luckily blessed with a much stronger constitution than his own.” There wasn't any of her usual hesitant stammer in her voice when she encouraged, “please Claire. I trust you.”

 

The time traveller found it that it was hard to nod and swallow at that as deceiving the other has never come easy for her. She averted her eyes as if to concentrate on the task, disinfected her hands and her blade once more by dunking them in the bowl with her antiseptic solution and knelt on the bed for the best position to angle her knife over the wound for a small incision to be made so she could get to the bullet easier. She had to see the damage at any case.

 

Jack finally groaned at that, his turning his head and blinking his eyes open was sluggish however. With him conscious, she would've normally suggested anaesthetising the patient at this point, but something stubborn and pharisaical told her she was entitled to see him suffer at least to some extent. She took to dividing subcutaneous tissue, fat, muscle and the peritoneum to widen the gap for her tweezers to fit in. The surgeon had been right in somuch as having done the same without proper disinfection they were not aware of how to use would've certainly made the situation worse. 

 

“Hold him still,” she warned as Jack cried out, wide, weary and anguished eyes flickering wildly around the room. Mary had to set the candle down to be able to keep both his hands out the way, as he was instinctually grabbing for Claire's to push them away.

 

“Calm down Jack,” the healer had to stop her work partly because of the trashing and partly because she couldn't see well enough for the lack of a closer candle. “You don't want to reopen a blood vessel, do you understand?” She leaned closer to his face. 

 

His breathing was fast and erratic that sounded like moans, but his eyes snapped to her and there was understanding there, so Claire waited till he seemed to try to get himself under control, slower his breaths and gradually become still. “Can I give him the laudanum now?” Mary found his suffering hard to watch. 

 

“Not yet,” Claire battled with herself. She really wanted Jack to feel the pain like he'd tortured Jamie and also, “I want to see first what damage there is to the bowels. If whatever we give him will simply flow into the abdominal cavity through some hole, we are doing more damage, than good. Do you think you can move over the candle here?”

 

Mary surveyed Jack, also assessing how in control he was. “Do you think you can hold still, John?” She wanted to make sure.

 

Jack nodded, visibly steeling himself and much more under conscious control of his body than he had been when just woken from his sleep by the pain. Mary gave him a small smile in concordance and slowly freed one of her hands, then poured out the melted vax atop the candle to make it brighter and less likely to drip. “I can see it, the bullet,” Claire peered into the hole after experimenting with a couple of angles that gave her the best visibility and wiping excess blood away, “I will take it out as soon as I make sure dislodging it doesn't free some blood flow...alright.”

 

This part, Jack hardly felt. He had to admit that she was amazing at this, pulling out that piece of metal without even as much as touching him. It was when she mopped at the blood that it hurt and when she pulled the walls of the wound somewhat more apart to get an idea of what was inside. “You are in luck,” she declared, “the bowels are intact. However, one of the branches of the internal iliac artery is damaged so I don't know if the bowels having been without a proper blood supply for days would cause tissue to die and fester.” There were some signs of infection there, but she would deal with that later as it wasn't serious enough for her to have to think about an almost deadly under the circumstances attempt to separate compromised intestines from healthy ones. “I will saw it up and that will hurt. The laudanum would be good now, Mary.” 

 

Jack had his eyes closed, but you could see he was concentrating, locked in his own world to be able to withstand being poked on the inside. Despite what she was offering, Mary had difficulties making him open his mouth, understand what he was given and let his head be lifted as when he stayed rigid, it hurt less. “It will be over soon, John,” the younger woman soothed, smoothing at his shoulder. She looked hopefully at Claire for confirmation.

 

“It would be better for him if he passed out,” the healer offered, in sympathy of Mary's concern for a man who did not deserve it. It was quite curious he hasn't lost consciousness so far in fact and she had to acknowledge he must've had a high pain threshold himself, not just expected other people to endure. Merely for the sake of a better healing, she would've preferred if she could avoid making him go into shock through the experience, only there was not much she could do in the way of a non-existent general anaesthetic. “I need that candle ever closer if possible,” she dabbed at newly appearing blood, then quickly introduced her thread and needle in its place where it was supposed to go. And lo and behold, fitting all that into the hole finally did make him pass out.

tbc


	5. Intermission

Chapter 5: Intermission

 

"I can't," Jack pushed away the spoon with pea soup Claire was lifting out the bowl at his refusal to do so himself as he half sat, half lay propped up against the headboard.

 

"Peas are nutritious and help the body fight infections," she explained.

 

Jack groaned, "is that so. Does it have the same effect barfed all over your skirts as well."

 

"Ignore the nausea, you need to get stronger and quick," Claire insisted and raised the spoon to his lips without patience, shoving its contents forcefully into the invalid's mouth, who was still too weak to defend himself against such ordeal. She pushed it in, held a hand under his jaw to hold his mouth shot and tilted his head upwards to make him swallow as if she would've been stuffing a duck to fatten it up. Somewhere in the back of her mind she was aware that it was foolish, that it ultimately did not change much, but she felt angry and entitled to inflict any discomfort on him that wouldn't necessarily hinder the plan. 

 

After the initial surprise over her deeds, he did not bother to fight her, cognisant that it would hurt his belly more to struggle than the current state of affairs. She sped up when he started to swallow obediently, her forbearance running thin. No way she could be expected to care for this excuse of a human being. Where was Mary with those supplies? Claire shoved the last remains of his dinner into Jack's mouth, not caring she had to mop him up afterwards due to her carelessness with the liquid.

 

"I don't think you know how to cure me," Jack grunted, letting his head fall backwards. "If this is your idea of a payback, I've expected better from you."

 

"Like gauging your eyes out?" Claire banged the bowl down, making the whole nightstand shake. If the dish would've been twentieth century ceramic as opposed to wood, it would have been shattered. Her fury was barely contained, her anger directed at him for not healing faster and partly at herself for having lost control. She wasn't blind, she was aware how pale, shaky and sweaty he had gotten during her forcefeed. That was a mistake, her feelings had gotten the better of her.

 

"Claire..." He called out, something akin to panic in his voice making her turn back to him. The gurgling noise coming from his throat clued her in the next moment. Jack tried to turn, but was choking on his own vomit in his feebleness.

 

"Oh for heaven's sakes," she knew had to swoop in to salvage the situation and yet his present condition she had caused herself did not lessen any of the anger she held for him. A part of her brain contemplated leaving him to his demise, but Jamie she couldn't leave to his fate. With only a moment's hesitation, she snaked an arm round his back and helped him to his side and with that, that was the soup wasted , though at least not all over her skirt as he had threatened earlier. "Are you done?" She grumbled none too gently.

 

Jack seemed to have had trouble gaining control of his breathing and brought a trembling hand to his bandages, holding on tightly. "Did you tear your stitches?" Claire admonished, "let me see," she pushed the man back onto the pillows. "Jack?" She found that she had to remove his hand herself if she wanted access. 

 

Peering under, the wound seemed fine, or as fine as it had been half an hour ago, with some redness around it, but otherwise satisfactorily healing, so that didn't explain the painful pant and sickly complexion. Second guessing herself, she brought the back of her hand to his forehead, keeping it there for a longer moment, trying to gauge his confusing temperature. He was warm, fever most likely rising. That prompted her to take his pulse, with non so pleasing results. She had been confident that she had nipped infection in the bud, and she had, but a secondary infection brewing due to his diminished strength was just as likely to take him in this day and age. 

 

So now she started cursing herself for forcing him to eat. Did she make his condition worse? He seemed barely with it, breaths akin to moans and his hand having found its way back to hanging onto his stomach as firmly as his weak fingers allowed. She noted their position. "Is that where it hurts now?" It was further up from the wound, close to his ribcage. "Jack, let me see," she addressed him a lot more softly this time and the way she removed his fingers was gentle too. The nurse palpated the area carefully, not finding anything out the ordinary bar for a somewhat enlarged spleen that wasn't too surprising a development, but the change in the pain pattern and his fever was enough cause for concern already.

 

As her movements slowed and her anger turned itself into worries for the future, he seemed to calm as well. His breathing slowed and he stilled, opening his eyes to blink at her from under a hooded, feverish gaze by the time she had finished changing his bandages. On his upper belly, she placed a cold compress for the lack of anything better to give him, hoping it will do at least some good. "Pen and paper," he breathed out the words, forehead creasing with the effort. "I am dying, Claire. I should write a letter while I still can."

 

"You like dramatic, don't you." She rolled her eyes, then turned on him, "you are not allowed to die, do you hear me!" Claire raised a pointing finger at him to waggle an inch from his chest.

 

"You and I both know you're not quite as capable as you make yourself out to be, witch or healer, I don't care. Pen and paper," he repeated tiredly.

 

"What do you want to write?" Claire allowed herself to contemplate the suggestion.

 

"An attempt to convince the Duke of Cumberland that Jamie was never a true Jacobite, but spying on the Pretender on my behalf ever since his last incarceration, agreement for which he was spared the noose," Jack declared.

 

The statement shocked Claire so much that she had to sit, on his bed as it were, peering curiously at him, "why would you do that."

 

"I have no illusions to ever escape eternal damnation and I have made my peace with that the moment I have set off on the road that could only lead to hell. There were benefits I would never regret, you see," he started on a slightly different tangent, "I want you to know that I am well aware of where that choice leads. And it is thus that I came to possess Him in a way I believe no one ever can.." Jack sounded distant and worshipful, words almost as if not directed at her and certainly not with the purpose of hurting her, not this time. It was a simple statement of facts and a jubilation of something he valued immensely at a point where he was taking stock of what he'd achieved in life, at least that's how it sounded. "And I can't no more. The only satisfaction I can still have is assuring He lives on with the knowledge and never forgets. I will help you save Him if possible, though nothing is guaranteed. I do not know if you've heard of the Duke's reputation, but it is sure not rosier than my own."

 

"Butcher Cumberland," Claire provided. The nickname was probably not in use yet so early on during the so called pacification of the Highlands, which was nothing more than his killing of the remaining rebels and either burning down or confiscating their settlements, and she did not forget the history books indicating that.

 

"Hm," Jack contemplated the possible moniker. His own still sounded better. Then he pursed his lips in agreeing manner, "I will try my best nevertheless," he promised.

 

"The idea should work a whole lot better in person so you'd better try your best and get better," Claire grumbled, but took to look for pen and paper nevertheless.

 

Tbc


	6. Satinpod

Chapter 6: Satinpod

 

"I don't think we should use bandages right now," Claire wiped with her antiseptic solution at Jack's stomach, "let the wound air for a bit, it heals better that way," she explained. It's not like she felt like talking to him at all, it was just that the spoken word sometimes lessened the sense of blatant awkwardness between them.

 

Jack sighed. "Why don't we stop pretending I am going to recover?" They could talk freely on a regular basis when Mary went to the market and given that it was still advisable for Claire to stay clear of any of the many English officers stationed in town, Mary's errands called her away many a time.

 

"Would I waste any moment of my life on you if I didn't think you could," Claire countered ill-natured.

 

"I barely keep anything down, cannot stand unaided and the cramps will not abate. How many days has it been?" The question was genuine, he truly didn't know, his awareness sometimes not sufficient for registering the passage of time.

 

"I've been tending to you for a week," the brunette provided.

 

"I can feel it," he started vaguely, "a need to make peace with the world. No matter what you change your story to, I know my fate. The way it hurts, so deep, so intense, I cannot believe there's an out from that."

 

"If you think there's a chance I will give you something to end it all, you're sorely mistaken," she remembered Collum in a similar situation.

 

"I see you Claire. The way your eyes brighten when a powerful cramp hits me, the way your breathing deepens and you can't take your gaze off of me. We're not so different after all, eh? Is that maybe why you're so intent of prolonging my life? To see me suffer?"

 

"Gratifying side effect," she acknowledged.

 

"So maybe drugs you give me have the exact opposite effect to what Mary thinks they do,” Jack accused calmly, not making a big deal out of it. If it was so, then it was so. “Forgive me if I don't trust you but why should I. I want to make a new deal. Tomorrow we set off for Wentworth and if I make it there and do your bidding, you either help me to a peaceful end, or help me recover if it is truly possible. This state of in between, I cannot take.”

 

Claire looked him up and down as if getting a sight of his entire body would give her a clue to the seriousness of his curious proposition. She had been trying to get him into a position where he would be able to travel, his state of health was questionable at the moment. Not that she would care if the journey proved deadly for him in the end, only she could not guarantee he would last till she needed him to. However, time was an issue, yet his condition seemed to stagnate. It was tricky to guess the right course of action. What's more, his apparent motivation lacked conviction. Why would he want to put himself through the torture of days' long jostling of his already battered body if the prize was death or relief from pain achieved through more and aggravated pain? It didn't make any sense. “We're about five days' away, four if we're very lucky,” she stated the obvious, just in case his mind wasn't up to par due to the illness. 

 

“You don't even think yourself you can make me survive that long on the road,” Jack challenged, seeing her reluctance.

 

“Not at all,” Claire grumbled. It was somewhat puzzling how he was convinced of his own demise when there weren't any clear clinical signs indicating so. His fate remained undecided, that's what it was.“Your fever is down and your heart is beating stronger.” She stopped there because if she would have been talking in her position as a medical professional, the next bit of advice would've been to rest up and let his body do its job, but that wasn't exactly in her interest, in more than one way, was it. “It is doable. But I find it strange you want to go. Why do you?”

 

Jack wrestled with himself a little before he turned to her to answer, “to finish what I've started on the battlefield. I thought I would bleed out there, Claire, and it hit me with such amazing clarity that you can only see in the sky at the seaside, back home in Sussex, that state between life and death where only the most essential thing matters. I have never left that state since. If only slower, but I am still dying and the thing that is most important to me remains the same: to ensure that the one who is most important to me, that one I love will be safe.”

 

Claire shrank back, breath frozen and with an urge to hyperventilate at the same time. Her mouth opened and closed a couple of times before she could reign her cavalcade of thoughts and emotions in and utter something vaguely intelligible, “your love for Jamie?” The brunette had to reign her impulse in as not to burst into nerves induced hysterical cackles. “Love, you say?” She shook her head, disbelieving. 

 

“Call it whatever you want, the intensity of the feeling remains the same.”

 

“I will call it psychotic, obsessive objectification, a sick, twisted fetishism of evil and torment that warrants the exact same to be dealt out in return!” 

 

“Now, you're talking,” Jack displayed a rare, dreamy smile.

 

Instead of aggravating her, his response cooled Claire because he was finally talking like she'd expected him to, and that gave her a chance to get her thoughts in order, “Say we go and you make it there,” she allowed his presented point of view, “what are you trying to achieve? Get me added to the row leading up to the gallows as accomplice?”

 

He shook his head as if wanting to stop her interrogation, “I don't expect you to believe me. I wouldn't believe myself in your situation. However, let me remind you that you hold all the cards. Shall you perceive me stepping out of order at any time, I am sure you can remedy that with one of your concoctions I trust you with and haste my demise. True, yes?” Jack urged her. 

 

“We travel alone, with Mary only, not accepting any English company shall we happen upon them,” Claire set her conditions, “and certainly no one military till the destination.”

 

“You're wish is my command, Madam,” he said on a tone that unsuspecting individuals could mistake for chivalry. It wasn't completely sarcasm either, but somewhat challenging. 

 

It made her display a little, fleeting smile. She needed his spirit for the endeavour after all. “In that case, I am making you a hasty pudding with apricot leather and you are eating it this time,” Claire stood, ready for action, understanding that whatever his reasons or plans were, his offer was the best she would get in terms of getting to Jamie. The rest of her worries she would bottle for another day.

 

Tbc


	7. Sturm und Drang

Chapter 7: Sturm und Drang

 

Leading their small party, Claire tried to find the least muddy path along the river of Allan Water for the other two horses to follow behind hers, not noticing that yet again, the Randalls fell behind. She didn't realise it till Mary's anxious voice reached her above the sound of the river. She must have been calling for a while, her manner still too quiet for the wilderness, as when Claire turned she could only see her trotting up in the shallows behind her. "Where's John?" The time traveller didn't wait for the answer however and cornered the bushes, tracking her way back till she found the sick officer lying on none so comfortable stones, forehead creased in pain, breathing heavily.

 

"He fell off the horse," Mary provided helpfully once she caught up, trying to dismount herself clumsily.

 

"Did you hurt yourself?" Claire surveyed his accidental bedding and the position of the horse itself, though the gelding was already wandering off on his own to drink from the watercourse.

 

"What do you think?" Jack pressed out between clenched teeth, clearly in pain. Claire examined the torn breeches on his left side and peered into the hole in them to assess the damage, pressing here and there, and did the same with his left arm, then smoothed at the back of his head. It was bumps and bruises, a scratch here and there, nothing more.

 

"He was swaying, he passed out, that's why he fell," Mary explained the obvious, also by his side by now.

 

"Only for a moment," Jack pushed up onto an elbow, trying to salvage any of his remaining dignity. He was a Captain of His Majesty's Dragoon's for heaven's sakes.

 

Claire grabbed for her satchel, taking out the container for her concoction she soaked his compresses with. It was of symptomatic value only. The warmth, and tingly and soothing sensation on his belly provided by the camphor and pine would distract nerve endings responsible for relaying pain messages somewhat and it would give the impression of him hurting less. She soaked the cloth permanently placed on his abdomen under the shirt for this reason again, emptying the whole contents of the flask. They would have to restock in Edinburgh, perhaps half a day's trek away if they made good time. And given these circumstances, they will have to.

 

"He can't go on like this, it's killing him," Mary placed a hand on his shoulder from the back fairly possessively, displaying a rare feistyness she usually kept for situations where there was no other way.

 

"It is the injury that is killing me," Jack ascertained, somewhat amused at her outburst and not used to people defending him, not since they were children and his younger brother owned up to mischief he did not commit instead of him. Besides, he was a proud enough man not to let pain take away his choices and to prove that, he started getting himself together to rise.

 

"Wait." It was now Claire who put a hand on his shoulder, "I want you to stay down till the poultice takes effect."

 

"It is starting to," he assured her, rolling round to raise himself onto his knees.

 

"No Jack, stay down for a little bit," the world traveller put a hand behind his neck to ease him back down, keeping it there for a few moments longer than necessary for the deed so she could get an idea of his fever. It was up and she grumbled in disapproval, "do you feel dizzy?"

 

"I'll manage, Claire," Jack deflected the question, but took the chance offered by her to lay down and close his eyes for a moment.

 

"Did the pattern of the pain change?" Without the advantages of modern medicine, such clues were essential.

 

"Pattern..." He mumbled, "the pattern of it reaching everywhere?" Jack remarked caustically, in essence deeming the question inappropriate to measure the agony he was in.

 

Mary threw them an exasperated look. Those two had a dynamic and some sort of strange, unvoiced understanding she knew she could never breech, model or even comprehend the fundamentals of, but enough was enough, "John, you shouldn't be doing this. I saw church bells in the distance, that's where we should head, they will have a bed and a little warmth. Nobody should be dying with no comfort if dying what it is that you are after," she pleaded sarcastically, showing more anger than her usual, mild manner allowed, "let us travel no more. Claire, you can see how badly off he is."

 

Jack took some time to get his hitched breathing under control before he peered up at Claire, "I still have a few days in me, right? Enough to get us to destination," he checked.

 

The healer gave some half hearted nods, her resolve and satisfaction over seeing him suffer having diminished somewhat over the last few days for reasons she could not properly justify. Maybe it was only human, but she had to remind herself that he deserved every hardship coming his way. "I believe the inflammation is still localised enough for that, yes, but I'd like to properly examine you to ascertain that..." She looked around on instinct, "somewhere where there isn't so muddy."

 

"The town ahead," Mary chipped in, desperate to get them there.

 

"We're wasting time, with me lying here," Jack noted.

 

Claire frowned. This whole thing was indeed madness. As a healer, she would have never recommended it for the sake of his chances of survival and that persona in her was feeling bad about herself. "He needs to rest," she willy-nillingly agreed, "and he will need support riding too. We will have to regroup," she advised, "I will ride with him. Do you think you can stand?" She put a hand on his arm, peering round at his fluttering lashes dubiously.

 

He moved sluggishly in response, movements largely uncoordinated, head swimming while he pushed up onto his knees, one startled woman on each side at the ready to catch him. "Are you sure you're going to be alright upright?" Mary nodded at him worriedly, her petite form not providing much support as she put an arm round him and manoeuvred herself under his arm.

 

Their companion gave an aggravated, quick sigh. As much as she had to tend to him over the last few days, Claire's repulsion over having to physically handle him never went away. Given his jello knees however and his swimming head, Claire didn't rate his chances high to get up on the horse himself. "Careful!" She jumped in to hold him up by the arms to stop him from pitching forward, his forehead coming to rest on her shoulder. "Jack!" She prompted, discomfited and at no avail. "Bring the horse!" She advised Mary instead then, more or less supporting his weight. The next part would be difficult as pulling his leg up against his belly hurt him at the best of times.

 

"Give me a moment," Jack must've been thinking along the same lines as well, reaching out for the saddle with a hand once it was close enough, but making no attempt to mount.

 

Claire was patient, she had seen his difficulties afore. She heard him trying to get his breathing under his conscious control, and felt him attempting to solidify his stance. His head lifted off her shoulder, and he was blinking uncertainly mere inches from her face. It was unsettling. Not because he was Black Jack, but more because he was so unlike him, his gaze mild and searching and trusting. "Frank..." She mumbled despite herself.

 

His eyes narrowed a little, not having the strength for a more thorough reaction. He put a hand on her shoulder this time to steady himself. "Frank. You've called me Frank before." His eyes gave their surroundings a fleeting glance, "in a place not unlike this one."

 

"Get on," she disregarded his inquiry, "lean on me," she moved round to support his back, "Mary, you pull him round at the other side."

 

Jack gave one more sluggish, pensive blink as he psyched himself up for the move and indeed leant into Claire to raise a leg into the saddle. Pain stabbed at his midsection as if someone would've been twisting a knife and all in all, he had no exact recollections of how he mounted precisely, though he had to assume he took part in the action as Claire pushing his back side up wouldn't have been enough. He sat panting, leaning on the horse's neck. The gelding snorted and shook, not too happy with his doings but then strong arms pulled him upright and out of the danger of being shaken off the saddle once more, with him only noting now that Claire was behind him and holding on tight.

 

"Lean back," she encouraged, trying to arrange to have his centre of gravity well balanced.

 

It's not as if he could do anything else. The reigns were taken out his hands and yet he didn't have to hold on either. He should've been so impressed with Claire, but much conscious thought was beyond him for the moment. He plastered a hand to his aching belly instead. "I need you to stay alert enough not slide onto one side, I won't be able to hold you with one hand. Can you do that?" He was prompted by his carer and saviour, a woman he held in higher regard than any other.

 

"Do not know," he suddenly felt the need for honesty. The state he was in, he was beyond trickery and games now.

 

Claire freed a hand to slide it down his front and under the previously opened coat that still lay unbuttoned. With his fingers in the way, it was difficult to palpate the area and giving it thought, she wasn't even sure what the point had been to attempting it. It's not like on horseback she would be able to assess whether his previously localised peritonitis had extended further, and that he was in a bad shape she already knew. For the lack of anything better that she could do, she kept her hand there however, keeping his abdomen from being jolted and agitated too much, his frequent tensing and panting she could hear being so up close giving her clues to when he really needed the support. The one and a half miles they had left to get into town felt endless, with not a moment where she could loosen up if she didn't want him pitching off beside her. "Keep awake!" She reminded him, growling into his ears, with an urge to thump him on the head instead, but of course that wouldn't do any good. The time traveller could tell from his shallow breathing however that her efforts were nigh futile and of course he had to be practically lying on her breasts when he did pass out.

 

Tbc


	8. Safeguard

Chapter 8: Safeguard

 

Claire was sitting on the stone steps of the largely deserted inn, cleaning the mud off broccoli and cauliflower florets she held in a wooden bowl in front of her when the creaky door opened just one step behind her. "You're not intending to make that into a mush and feed it to me are you," Jack's voice clang out clear behind her, making her snap her gaze back at him.

 

"What are you doing out of bed," Claire complained.

 

"I feel alright this morning. And since I'm assuming we shouldn't waste any day when I feel like I can manage the travel, I told Mary to start getting our things together. You can keep your mush for later too," he nodded at the vegetables as he ambled forward to lean on the side of the entranceway with one hand in helping himself slide down awkwardly onto the step she was sitting on, beside her.

 

His observation regarding the best time to travel she could not argue with, but she held out a hand so the back of her fingers could touch his forehead briefly. She was the healer after all, and certainly the one who was supposed to be in charge, so she made a passive attempt at acting like it. Of course he didn't have a high temperature, he never did, not since she'd cared for him, the infection was brewing overtly for the most part. "You're high," Claire ascertained instead. There was certainly no reason for him to be so cheery and bright eyed, apart from Mary's increasing tendency to be generous with the laudanum when they had enough of it and given that she had just managed a restock the day before, there could be no doubt that while he was careful with his movements not to jostle his abdomen too much, he would've never managed outside without support otherwise.

 

"Then I suggest we get a move on before it wears off," he eyed her vegetables hostilely again.

 

"It's early enough," Claire glanced in the direction of the sun, still low in the sky, "if you're well enough, it is possible we reach Wentworth by tonight and I need to know what the game is. Or, the version you're giving me, that is."

 

"Still no trust I see," he teased. Trust he could not expect of course, he knew that. "We will arrive as we are, asking for a place for me to recuperate. My wife will be no trouble to have joining me, and if I bring you along in the role of a healer, I believe you will be welcome, though probably tested in your knowledge under duress of a many who may require assistance as a result of the battle. Not any trouble for you though if my experience is to go by," he complimented her.

 

"Me inside a prison, surrounded by an entire English garrison," she mused, "it would not be hard to take advantage of that."

 

"It's what you want," he reminded her, "and have wagered with less if I remember well."

 

"And you will just let me walk out with Jamie," Claire challenged.

 

"What you do and how you get out is none of my business. Get creative. I don't want to know about it. Understood?"

 

His conversation partner surveyed him long and thorough. His offer of course had always been too good to be true. Would he have been another man, any man apart from the few heinous souls she had the privilege to encounter, she would settle for suspicion as opposed to complete mistrust. And yet, it didn't make much sense for him to be so keen on reaching Jamie, not in the state he was in. Whatever his ulterior motive was, it had to be solid and imperative. But then again, would she ever really know what reasoning a dark mind like his would utilise. "If we are going to get to Wentworth today, you should wear your uniform." She finally set down her bowl of vegetables and they both glanced back at the dwelling behind where clattering noises of something being placed by the door indicated that Mary could not be far from ready to be joining them.

 

Jack rubbed a hand indicatively at his stomach, "my guess is that we won't get there today." Was the analgesic already starting to wear off? "And if I change clothes now, it will tire me out to an extent it would make me unable to travel."

 

Claire sighed in acknowledgement and moved closer, "I'll help you stand," she offered her arm as soon as she was standing herself. The support was sufficient enough for his needs, but Claire could not miss his paling when his abdominals straightened. He was of course right, they wouldn't make it today all the way, and also, this was still the best chance they were going to get. She let go of him slowly, making sure as always that he wasn't going to topple over if she did so, then leaned down and picked up a couple of fresh broccoli florets that she offered to him, "your breakfast."

 

His eyebrows shot up in query, "is that what shrub the Scots eat when they don't have anything else? Cause I have no qualms about you using my finances to buy proper sustenance, regardless of how little I eat of it."

 

It was Claire's turn for an eyebrow move. Was he now offering his money to feed her? "The Scots don't know it much yet, it was not long introduced in England as it is and it prefers a little more warmth to grow than up here North. But I've spotted someone quite unusually growing potatoes nearby and I was lucky enough to be greeted by broccoli as well," she indicated the green vegetable, "it tastes a little bitter, but it's crunchy and zesty, with lots of essential nutrients. You need your vitamin C for wound healing and fighting infection," she continued, despite knowing he would not understand some of the concepts mentioned, but sometimes that was the only way of spreading knowledge.

 

"Is it medicinal?" His curiosity got the better of him as he turned the dark green floret in his hand.

 

"Yes," she agreed for the lack of a better way to proceed. In circumstances different to what they were in, she would have found the quizzical face amusing. It was sometimes so frustrating battling wills with savages who disregarded hygiene, common sense and basic clues to what their bodies were telling them and then there was this, when someone was willing to accept a different point of view, and was also weirded out by it at the same time.

 

"Really Claire," stems crunched between his teeth, "I've expected better from you. You will have to come up with something better to torture me with," he volunteered the second mouthful just as Mary descended the stairs, laden with their blankets.

 

Tbc


	9. Partition

Chapter 9: Partition

 

While the rain hasn't been as unpleasant as the winter drizzle that soaks the clothes into an icy skeleton, extending its clutches round the body, it was late enough for the twilight air to cool in the quick shift that characterised the temperature change between the Scottish day and night and so Claire was quite relieved when their horses have finally trotted up to the archway that housed the heavy, fortified gate secluding Wentworth prison from the outside world. 

 

“Leftenant Cavendish is it?” Jack brought his horse to a halt in front of the guard. They only had to make the last seven miles on the day and he was fit enough to straighten and look every bit the dashing officer of the king that he could be.

 

“Captain Randall?” The man who's straw hair peeked out from under his cap answered in a similar, quizzical manner, “glad to see you've survived the battle, Sir!” The officer seemed truly happy seeing his superior, which puzzled Claire. Wasn't everyone weary of him, including his own men? “It would have been such a waste, if I may be so frank, after the difficult times recovering from your injuries lying up in that turret,” he inclined his head slightly in a backwards direction, “we did hear you were mortally wounded again.”

 

It was truly astonishing how Jack didn't mind being addressed in such an informal and direct way, but maybe the explanation was that he had a few close confidantes, friends perchance heaven forbid? Of course, she shouldn't be surprised, she already knew Jack wasn't all Black, not with Alex and perhaps a handful of other people at least. He had a more likeable side, not that Claire wanted to acknowledge that, the possibility of ever having to in the future sickened her. Because if she had, her wish for revenge wasn't completely justified. 

 

“I am not as well as I look,” Jack admitted, “but the king's business is more important. The man I was here for last time, the one who escaped in the cattle herd disorder, is he here now?” He got round to the first question Claire wanted an answer to before they were past the grated gates. 

 

“Yes Captain, that he is. A spy for the English, is it true what they say? We could hardly believe it when he was given quarters with fresh linen and a pick of the wine. We don't even get that, why should a barbarian!” 

 

Claire felt the need to wince. Jamie will sure as shooting be pissed off for his made up reputation that stemmed from Jack's letter, non-Jacobite or not, but his wife did not care, as long as it saved his life. “Still a prisoner though, right?” Jack had to make sure.

 

“Till it could be ascertained the claims were genuine. Sir Sackville is writing to numerous people to confirm it.” They had to hurry, before letters started arriving back.

 

“Sackville?” 

 

“He replaced Sir Gordon as the Warden of Wentworth,” Cavendish confirmed the rumours they needed to know. With him gone, it was a lot less likely for Claire to be recognised as relating to the Frasers. 

 

“The man was too old for a job that isn't cut out for a civilian in times of war. Sackville, is he around?” Jack pressed, not wanting to have to answer questions he couldn't. 

 

“Oh no, Sir, he'd be down in the village at this hour, he keeps no quarters at the fortress.”

 

“In that case, let us in, leftenant. My wife is with child and would like a lie down, as would I. Bullet wounds do not heal so fast.”

 

“Your wife! Congratulations are in order then, Captain, three times over! Wife, child, and your survival!” Cavendish looked between Mary and Claire and decided to poke his hat respectfully in the latter's direction. As the gate rolled up slowly at the wave of his hand, neither of them questioned any part of his actions as he let all three of them through without further questions. 

 

“Shall I be able to find room in the officers' lodgings till the morning? And room and board down the village for my wife and her companion from then on?” Jack kept up the strange amicable act Claire wasn't used to, though a pained strain in his voice was starting to show for ears listening out for that kind of thing. It wasn't easy for him to behave like he had the strength to match the position of power he was going for. 

 

“Russell is standing guard, he shall orient you,” Cavendish gave his last words of advice before he ordered the grated gate to be pulled back down behind them, a part metal, part wooden door closing shut over it as well. 

 

“Are you alright?” Mary pulled on her reigns to get closer to her husband in name, alarmed at how he swayed in the darkness of the yard behind walls now that nobody was scrutinising them. 

 

Jack wasn't up to giving her a stern look to keep her back. That would have required lifting his head when it wasn't absolutely necessary, a move that might have cost him his precarious balance. But he did manage to put up a defensive hand in her direction, which aided with his rejective grunt, was enough to stop her far enough for the soldier standing guard in front of the stairs leading to living quarters not to realise what was going on. “Sergeant Russell! See that the horses are taken care of!” He barked and dismounted as if nothing was amiss. Hurt as it may, it was the quickest way to get himself where he wanted to be without too much fuss, which was a bed, any bed. 

 

Both Mary and Claire held back a startled gasp, gathering belongings to hastily follow. Russell didn't pay them much heed. A freshly lit torchlight showed his saucer face widening with wonderment and pale somewhat. Perhaps he had also thought Randall dead. Claire knew exactly how that felt or it was simply that they finally witnessed an appropriate reaction to one Black Jack, who spared himself no pain to give as potent of lashings right here in this courtyard as he could. The knowledge jarred her senses and slowed her movements and thus she could only witness Jack already holding onto the wall as soon as they were out of soldiers' sights and Mary shooting her despairing glances while she had trouble keeping him upright. 

 

But Mary was in no mood to touch him, not now, not here, not with memories of the worst night in her life assaulting her consciousness. “Why did you change the story we've agreed on?”

 

“I went along with what seemed best at the time,” Jack seemed frustrated by her questioning too. “You're in, aren't you? Can we talk while I'm horizontal,” he plained. The voice was grousing, miles from the authoritative tone he put on earlier. Claire had learnt over the last couple of weeks that he had no more strength left to put on a show for her. 

 

“Not till you tell me what that was about,” she stood her ground with her usual stubbornness, “what is this with you saying me and Mary move to the village tomorrow.”

 

“Not relevant,” he frowned his disposition, “I know Sackville. He will not tolerate a woman as anything else than a whore. You claiming to be a healer is not going to go down well. He will get suspicious. Especially as myself and the good lawyer are not on the best of terms. Which means that whatever you're doing, you have got to do it tonight.”

 

Claire's gaze swept the walls absent mindedly as she took in the new development. Regardless of how it went down, what the outcome was and whether Jack kept to his word, the sooner she gave the mission a try, the better. First though, they did have to find somewhere to lay him down, he was practically shaking with weakness. So as usual, she would end up offering a hand and a shoulder to lean on.

 

Tbc


	10. Shimmer

Chapter 10: Shimmer

 

Putting the corporal with the bundle of keys to sleep was child's play. The officers stationed at the prison let their guards down easily enough around Jack and had been very helpful with providing the sick man with a comfortable bed, allegedly the very same he spent a couple of months on while recovering from his serious injuries after being found under the door crushed down by the cattle. 

 

The genuineness of their kindliness puzzled Claire, but she would have to bottle the curiosity up for later evaluation and get out of dodge as soon as possible like Jack had suggested. Leaving him in Mary's dedicated care, the Fraser had left the room allegedly in search of the kitchens if anyone asked. And while she wished the keys came with instructions, and preferably, a map, there weren't many rooms in the fortress locked and suitable for use for a prisoner outside and above the rat infested dungeons. If she went into the wrong room, she would just have to quickly lock it again.

 

Just as one would expect when a captive's door opened at an unusual time, Jamie was clearly alert by the time Claire figured out which way the key turned and how many times, and pushed the heavy and thick oakwood aside. She had not been carrying a candle for the sake of obscurity and ease of handling the keys, so it was only the faint light of the moon that fell through his grated window that aided their measuring up of each other and that light shone on her more than the bed in the corner he occupied. While his tentative, eager movement forward gave her hope, she had to wait till further evidence of the occupant's identity. 

 

“Sassenach?” Jamie brogue was as hopeful as it was astonished and admonishing.

 

Claire flew to him as a response when he stood up, touching him down, feeling him at as many places as she could, “you're well, you're here, you're alive!”

 

“I could say the very same back at ye! I thought ye went back to the future!” Jamie looked at her in wonderment, drinking her sight in as much as it was possible in the dim light. “What happened! I didnae let ye go jest so ye come back,” he complained. “I saw you disappear, out my arms, you've vanished! How did you...”

 

“The stones didn't work, or they did, but not the way intended. I will explain it to you, just not now,” her fingers were probing the back of his head in view of his injuries at Culloden Jack told her about, but given that her fingers could feel nothing but a scar, she lowered her hand to the back of his neck and pulled him down towards her to shower his face and mouth with hasty, possessive, raring kisses. This wasn't like their previous reunion at this prison as he was well, in one piece and no less worse for wear than she had seen him last. Or, judging by the cured meats' smell coming from the direction of the table, probably in a better condition than while with the starved Jacobites. “We need to hurry,” she concluded just as he crushed her against him, swept away by the joy of having her in his arms again. “We have this one chance of getting you out of here. He probably wouldn't do anything harmful in front of Mary, but I'm not sure how far we can trust Randall.”

 

“Randall? Randall cannae be here,” he shook his head.

 

“Because you shot him at Culloden?” Claire wanted her suspicions confirmed. 

 

“No, I didnae. I wanted to finish the wrassler, sure enough, an' we tussled and parried an' a Major from the 20th Regiment appeared out of nowhere, intent on taking down Red Jamie for himself. And that's when Randall turned his back to me. I understand it no, but I would swear on my mother's grave that he took that bullet fe me while I shot the Major,” Jamie kept shaking his head, “why, Claire? Nobody was clocking, not till other English soldiers came over to help their captain. An' that's when he hit me in the head so I came to in a cart on the way to here! What could he possibly gain out of that? I had the noose round my neck the last time when he ordered me not to be executed, that was fe his own pleasure. Bleeding out from a belly wound, could he possibly survive that?” Jamie seemed bedazzled by it all, even if it had happened weeks ago now. 

 

Claire sighed in a weary manner, fearful herself of where all these revelations could lead them. Because for Jack to act in this way with Jamie would mean he had been telling the truth about his feelings and could a world where Jack wasn't outright evil be even comprehensible? “He could possibly survive if I tend him,” she admitted.

 

“Why would ye dae such a thing!” He seemed almost as scandalised as when she had asked him to spare Jack's life for Frank's sake for a year.

 

“Keep your voice down,” Claire had to remind him, panicking, “I only put two of the guards to sleep!” 

 

“Why would ye dae such a thing!” Jamie repeated, quieter, but no less aggravated.

 

“So I can get in here and spring you out. A simple trade for medical services.”

 

“And that didn't seem jest a wee bet contermashious tae ye?”

 

“The whole thing is rather contrary,” Claire agreed, “we can talk about it later. But for the exact reason it is contermashious,” she struggled to copy his exact pronunciation of the word, “you need to put this on and then we go, now,” she produced cream breeches, a red coat and a triangular hat to go with it.

 

“If ye suppose I would ha' that uniform on, yer sorely mistaken! I'd rather be ded!” 

 

“Jamie, we will go through the trapdoor I told you about, you will have the uniform on for quarter of an hour and nobody will see you in it,” Claire grumbled, having known in advance that she will have to have this argument. 

 

“If nobody will get a sight of me, why the De'il do a need tae wear it! It's not Randall's is it?”

 

“No, it's the guard's I managed to knock out. We need to move, Jamie,” she took a different approach and kissed him, exploringly, needily, invitingly, then looked back at him expectantly. 

 

“Ach alright, ye keep edgy,” he finally got onboard with the plan and sent her to the door to keep a lookout while he changed.

 

Tbc


	11. Canvass

Chapter 11: Canvass

 

“The Captain will no wait aboot fae us, Jared's own ship or no,” Jamie reminded his wife as they stood in the Dublin docks, an armlength away from The Portia, a relatively small, two masted cargo vessel used by the expanded wine business, now bringing root beer and various liqueurs back from Philadelphia while supplying the settlers there with commodities coming from Europe. 

 

“I promised Mary that I would wait for her till the end of June, give her a chance if case she wants to come with us. This is the last day of June, we will not miss this ship, no matter what,” she promised.

 

“We'd better no, Jared has no got any other ship scheduled for the Americas fae weeks.” Notwithstanding, he remained on the pier with her, he would delay getting on board till the last possible minute himself. If someone got so seasick as he, every moment on land was a bonus. 

 

Claire took her eyes away from the swirling crowds and looked at her husband, putting a possessive, appeasing hand on his chest, “it's the least I can do, with what I've already put Mary through. I thought Jack would die, that there was no harm in her marrying him.”

 

“And whose ferr fault is that, him not dying?” Jamie looked pointedly at her. 

 

“Maybe he did after all. I couldn't tell. It could have went both ways.”

 

He stood deep in thought for a moment, as if reminded of something, then he shook his head, “I will never understand that man.” The Scot said confused, sounding lost and bewildered before anger won, “if he thinks I will consider myself indebted to him because he saved my life, he is very wrong! Eh, that's what that was fae, so he can feel like he owns me!” 

 

Claire had to admit it would've made sense if they would try to look at things from his twisted point of view, but she felt like there was a mental obstacle blocking her from accepting the hypothesis. “He could not be owning you, dead. He was ready to die if need be.” It's not like she was defending him, it just felt right pointing that little detail out.

 

“I would no be surprised if it was a bargain with the devil himself. I would have rather died than owe him anything, much less my life an' my freedom!” 

 

His brunette leaned into him, “well, I'd rather you lived, cost notwithstanding,” Claire kissed him languidly, making it feel intimate even if short. 

 

“Mr. Fraser.” Their moment was interrupted by a clerk they've met earlier. “This young lady is looking for one of your merchant ships,” the man naturally assumed that the vessel belonged to Jamie's family for possessing the same name as the owner. 

 

Claire's eyes widened with excitement and warmth when seeing that the new shy arrival who stood to the side discreetly was indeed the woman she had been waiting for. “That's quite alright, thank you,” she assured the clerk before taking Mary into her arms for a hearty hug, or as much of it as their respective, growing bellies allowed. 

 

“You're pregnant?” Mary rejoiced in the similarity of their situations.

 

“Well, it's not ideal when crossing the Atlantic, and you will be delivering on the journey, but you don't have to worry about that, cause I will be with you,” she squeezed Mary's hands in encouragement, glad she could ensure the existence of Frank's line herself after all. “I'm so happy you made it. Did you get away alright?” Meaning anything that was concerning matters to do with Jack.

 

Mary nodded half-heartedly, “we were lucky John was given leave to recover back home in Sussex and so we weren't there in Wentworth when the order came to have him arrested.”

 

“Arrested?” Jamie took an interest in the conversation, forehead furrowing as a dark cloud came over his expression. 

 

“He has been accused of aiding your escape,” Mary confirmed. 

 

“Damn it,” Jamie's anger made him jittery and he had to turn to find release for some of his cageynesss. Haven't they just talked about how he did not want Jack to feel entitled to redemption in any way, shape or form, so he certainly did not welcome the news with any tolerance. 

 

“We had been on the move ever since. He has been well enough, but the travels are not doing him any favours,” the younger woman continued, somewhat weary of Jamie's reaction.

 

“Wait. He's here?” Claire put into words both her and Jamie's fears.

 

Mary nodded, “I've left him with the luggage to see if I could find you. No need for him to overexert himself for no reason, if you're not here that is. Although we would've still needed to find passage overseas, no safe place for us on the British Isles now, and quickly.” 

 

“You're planning on coming with us?” Jamie leaned close suspiciously, narrowing his eyes.

 

“There was on offer made?” Mary looked into Claire's eyes bashfully, ready to lose all her confidence in her own hearing and instincts at remembering how Claire repeatedly emphasized the conditions and details of their possible future meeting. 

 

“Yes, yes, there was Mary, but uhm, the invitation was never extended to John, you understand.” The curly haired woman tried to advocate between the two parties, knowing it was a lost cause.

 

Mary took a step back, churned up and conflicted herself, “you don't suppose I would leave my husband while he's stricken with ailments and wanted by the army? He wouldn't survive the prison, the way he is, you know that. In sickness and health, for better or worse, to live together forever in the covenant of marriage as long as we both shall live. And I meant it, no matter the circumstances. I will comfort him and keep him, it was how Alex wanted it, so the two people he loved the most take care of each other. I will do nothing less.” And pure and tenacious and loyal as she was, there was no doubt about it.

 

“He's well enough you say?” Claire was amenable to further discussion. Her medical expertise was still on offer as part of their previous deal. 

 

“He's a lot stronger, no fevers, shakes, or passing out, but I know he's in pain even if he does not complain. He doesn't have much of an appetite or hold his food well on occasion.” In hopes of a continuation, Mary gave a full report on account of how Claire treated them in the past. “We were able to shake off the soldiers that were sent for him, but I'm sure it won't take long before they catch up with him again,” she squeezed her own knuckles with the nerves, “they will be looking for us in the port, and soon, now that they know which direction we might be going,” the young woman gave a shaky, insecure nod, “we shall be boarding a ship bound overseas, as far as possible, today, no matter what.”

 

Claire gave Jamie a weary, questioning look. It looked like every muscle of his face needed to be under his conscious control to keep his rage contained. His flickering gaze though, the way he tried to avoid her gaze but caught it for a moment gave her hope as it showed some amount of uncertainty within him, enough for her to work with. She gave Mary's shoulders an encouraging squeeze and stepped over to her brewing husband. “You said you did not want him to feel like you owe him in any way. Give them passage to the ship, and his life will be in your hand that way as a bonus, it is the way you want it, isn't it.”

 

Jamie hum-hoed, his head moving with the sentiment. Knowing him, Claire waited patiently till he restrained himself from an open outburst in public and came to his conclusion. “So be it, Sassenach. Just don't expect me to vouch fae his safety if he comes anywhere near me,” he skulked off to talk to the captain, leaving the women to bring Jack over if they still persevered with the idea.

Tbc


	12. Weather Sheet

Chapter 12: Weather Sheet

 

Carefully balancing the pisspot's contents, Claire climbed up to deck to empty and wash the container, her movements slowing as she faced the starboard side for the sight that waited for her there. The crew had designated only a small area for use of those ill who needed to get some air as per the on-board doctor, Mrs. Fraser's orders and the little room that was cordoned off by a couple of barrels and sacks was occupied by two men, Jamie and Jack, both being too busy being spectacularly sick over the side to be bothered about being in each other's company. 

 

Claire got rid of her burden and ambled over to sit by her husband's side and put a hand on his cheek sympathetically, “does the ginger tea not help anymore?” It was possible for one substance's effects to wear off if used excessively, “should we try peppermint, or go back to aniseed?”

 

“Nah, I'll be alright Sassenach,” he warded off the concern bravely as if seasickness was something he could go into battle against, “it's just because the seas are too heavy. The ginger, and the body having gotten used to the pitch and roll usually does the trick. If the pattern is anything to go by, in the worst case scenario the weather stays choppy, an' I shall get used tae that too within three days as before,” he heartened, bright and confident enough for her not to question it. “I shall stay here though for a bit,” his hand gripped the lower rail as they sat, “just to be sure. You don't want people retching down below.”

 

His wife gave him a gentle smile and cradled his neck for a close embrace, hold she stayed in for quite a few moments, both for his comfort and hers, a pleasant state to be and echo of the safety he'd promised when they've first met, word he'd never broken. She allowed herself this moment of weakness, or a moment of gathering strength really, and then she stepped out his embrace the stalwart and resolute as her spirit could be, just one step to the side as it was this far she needed to go to put a hand on Jack's shoulder, who was staring out at the sea, seemingly disregarding them, both hands clutching the rails like iron, his knuckles pale with it. “I do not like it when you stand so close to toppling into the sea, you know that. Either sit like Jamie or let yourself be led down and put to bed,” she said firmly with the steady voice she often used with patients. 

 

“You told me before,” he agreed, “so much so that not even Mary would suspect foul play if you would give me a little push outwards instead.” He peered at Jamie behind her and sighed, “of course it's below his Scottish gentlemanship to do such a thing,” he groused sardonically.

 

“Man, if ye want tae jump, then jump, I willnae stop ye,” Jamie declared, though the blind would know he was lying. If Jack's life was in his hands, then he would mean it exactly like that and not giving him an out. 

 

Claire was too startled to do anything else but grab hold of Jack's arm as if just to support him, “come on, sit with me, I need to ask you some questions.” She had known he was depressed of course, who wouldn't be in his situation. A life wasted in many ways, paths started that could never be finished, alleys taken that were proven wrong and a state of health that would hardly give him a fair chance to start over. And what could have been the most devastating for him maybe by how Claire conjectured, was that should he have wanted to change his colours back, he would have been in no position, with no power to do so. Just a nobody, with not much worth than driftwood. Or less, cause that wouldn't sink. She could have felt sorry for him, she could, but she would not allow herself to forget the past. “Have you kept down anything lately?” She reached for his wrist for the pulse right after the dehydration pinch test on his fingertips now that she had him sitting down. 

 

He nodded at it half-heartedly, “I was not sick at all yesterday.”

 

“So what brought this on?” Claire continued with counting the heartbeats.

 

“The weather?” Jack glanced at Jamie in agreement of the other's previous assessment of the wind's effect on their sickness. He must have been listening after all. 

 

“Your stomach hurting any different?” She pressed some fingers to his solar plexus. 

 

“Not more or less or any different,” came the matter of fact, seemingly emotionless answer, though that wasn't very encouraging going on how he rubbed his belly after her uncomfortable touch. “There's no need for your attentions,” he finished up on a tone that made it clear he was de facto again and not teasing either of the other people present. 

 

“There's no need for your attentions,” Jamie pulled closer to repeat Jack's words in Claire's ears pointedly, seeing as how it still irked him that Claire was willing to waste her time on the Englishman with dubious motivations. 

 

Of course she was never for listening to what men wanted, she had her own mind to make up, “I would like to take a look at you properly, I haven't had the chance for the weeks since we boarded. With how your condition has changed since our last encounter, I may still have some ideas on how to help you,” she offered. 

 

“I have no more bargaining chips in exchange, or is there something you have in mind?” Jack peered at her suspiciously. 

 

“I have Mary and the child's welfare in mind. As I understand, your funds are not sizable and there will come a time, in the near future, when you will be expected to provide for you family. I'd like to see to it that you are able to,” she explained, hoping that it would be acceptable for both of the men present. 

 

“Frank.” Jamie grumbled, rolling his eyes. He got himself together to stand and distance himself a little. He was still not happy that he had to make allowances for a man who might not ever exist, but knew that it was never a matter Claire would compromise much on. 

 

“Who the hell is this Frank I keep hearing about?” Jack couldn't help his curiosity. 

 

“Never you mind that,” Claire established firmly. Telling him about that could have given Jack ammunition she wasn't willing to provide. “Let's get you down the stairs,” she offered a hand, noting his visible paling as he was pulled into a standing position again. Claire held on firmly as he swayed, beyond what the ship's movement evoked. 

 

“My wife is pregnant ye bampot,” Jamie would have none of his, albeit unintentional leaning on her. His own nausea or not, he forcefully pulled Jack out of Claire's hold and draped an arm round the ex soldier, “come man,” he encouraged mildly, rather surprised by how lightweight and ragdoll-like his burden was. 

 

“Mrs. Fraser, you need to get down here straightaway,” one of the sailors called out from the direction of the galley where Mary was helping out, “I deliver no babies in there!” He shook himself as if to shrug off the thought, “the young missus is having the pains and calling for you!” 

 

“It's too early,” Claire grabbed for Jamie's support as well, forgetting herself for the moment that she was supposed to be the one at least pretending to be in control of any medical situation. It was due to the fact that she knew first hand how little there could be done in similar circumstances for her own child. She did not want to have to see someone going through that, and herself being reminded of what it felt like, it would ignite her fears about her own, current pregnancy. And there were the implications for future generations as well, Claire could be losing more than it met the eye.

 

“Leave Jack to me. See what ye can do fae the poor lass,” Jamie encouraged, steely green eyes conveying his trust in her, giving her strength. Hesitatingly, she looked back at Jack. His commendation was a nod and hazel eyes appealing to her, way too hopeful for what she could provide. Either way, there was no doubt that he would also trust her with everything he had. Could she disappoint them?

 

Tbc


	13. Naiant

Chapter 13: Naiant 

 

The next few weeks were far from easy. Instead of two patients, she now had three, plus the man who broke his leg falling off the mast. But at least Mary's premature labour could be kept at bay with the strictest bedrest, kalium phosphoricum, sepai and doses of Epsom salt, a rather distinctive mineral compound containing magnesium and sulfate with various uses, including against contractions. They were all remedies she had acquired for her own use the very least in case her pregnancy threatened to go the same way as her previous one. If only she would've done the same with Faith, maybe she could have been saved. 

 

As with most ships of the time, there were only a very limited amount of fixed beds as opposed to hammocks available and the only secluded one apart from the captain's had been granted for the pregnant women's use, with Jamie rarely getting the chance for a private moment with his wife. That was alright though, the situation was temporary and he necessitated no bed at any case, not now that his seasickness has entirely disappeared once his body got used to the tune, just as predicted by the sea veterans of the crew. Since there was nothing to load, unload or sale for the moment in his position as supercargo given to him by his uncle, Jamie was somewhat at a loss now that he felt stronger and healthy. Gin or rum could only entertain a man of his kind so much, so soon he ended up helping where he could, up in the rigging even if necessary if the task didn't require too much skill he could not learn through a mere few tries. He liked staying up there at any case, it gave him no chance to bump into his former arch enemy on deck. When being up there, he always knew where the Englishman was, easy to avoid even if he had to come back down. And willingly or not willingly, it also gave him the knowledge of everything that there was to know about the man at present. 

 

Like previously, Jack didn't seem to fair particularly well. It was clear that he was no more of a seafarer than the Scot and apart from pulling on a few ropes when he was in the right place at the right time for when it was needed, he did nothing but try to get through each day as they came, eat a little, spend a lot of time at the head, retreated below or like now, at the railing in that designated area for the sick that was most out the way of the sailors' lines. The change in his way of being was not lost on Jamie. From the moment when he, astonishingly, stood in front of a bullet that was meant for the Scot, Jamie was utterly lost as far as his old enemy was concerned. But watching him totter about aimless and gaunt, waste away without an ounce of his fighting spirit had brought it home for him, it had started to sink in, bit by bit, a little each day. As unbelievable as it was, Jack had thrown everything away to save the life of the one he had been infatuated with. And one day, when Jamie had seen him being sick again and then just slide down to sit where he was, the Scot found himself climbing down the mast without giving it much conscious thought and cross over to crouch down and put a hand on Jack's shoulder gently, “the belly, is it no getting any better?” Jamie sounded afflicted about it himself. It wasn't the kind of revenge he had in mind when he swore to take the loss of his dignity back from the man.

 

It was as if Jack would've had to waddle through several layers of fog and turbulence before he peered at Jamie, and some more time had to pass before recognition set in too. But then there was an immediate glint in his eyes, signalling curiosity at the very least, “maybe on land.” It didn't sound too confident, it had to be the only hope though. His eyes narrowed, “did Claire send you?”

 

“No such luck,” Jamie excused himself for not being able to provide any of Claire's herbs, “do ye need anything? I can get it for ye from her.”

 

“Gifted as she is, I think your Claire has ran out of ways to help me.”

 

“It's possible she maybe doesn't want to.” Jamie couldn't help himself playing the older man a little, he deserved at least that. In any case, he did like the scenario where Claire would indeed withdraw care for the sake of punishing their ex enemy, at least a little. 

 

“I do not think so,” a flicker of his old confidence permeated Jack's words. “If the term gentleman applied to a woman, your wife would be that. I am no innocent, but she will honour anything that's due.”

 

“Anything that's due an' beyond,” Jamie sounded somewhat annoyed. The fact made Claire partly what was so lovable about her, yet that didn't help from it being rather maddening at times. “On that we agree.” 

 

“So why are you here, James Fraser?” Jack provoked, knowing it might not lead him anywhere pleasant. He couldn't help not stepping away from some of his ways either. 

 

“Why did ye take that bullet,” Jamie demanded. It had been the question on his mind, however repressed to silence by him not wanting to admit it has indeed happened. 

 

“One of those moments of insanity I suppose, a stirring of an odd sensation and then chaos,” he snorted, looking submerged deep in thought again, “the moment that took my choices away and I cannot be the man I once was until I no longer recognise myself. Believe me, given the chance and wound back to the time, I would not make that choice again.”

 

“I should no reckon so,” Jamie agreed, “but since ye have, any clue what am I supposed tae do with ye now!” 

 

“You were always a man of honour, James Fraser, nobody could ever take that away from you. And I presume we were always supposed to have that fight to the death we never get to finish when the occasion arises.” 

 

Jamie almost gave into the urge to roll his eyes at him, but then, they were meaning to have a serious conversation. “Aye, I'll be right daeing just that at this time, make a pregnant lass a widow.”

 

“She'll be a widow soon enough,” Jack prophesied, “she was never to stay married to me to start with.”

 

“Claire isn't always right, ye ken,” Jamie leaned closer to speak consiprationally.

 

“I'm not well,” the Englishman stated the obvious, “I will be surprised if I will be of any use to her once the money runs out.” 

 

“Ye might get well,” the younger man heartened, even going as far as putting a hand on the other's shoulder again, “there's no one else as braw at medicine than Claire in this present world of ours, that ye can be sure of.” As he touched Jack, he felt him shaking slightly, a tremor that was going through his whole frame by the looks of it. He noted as the ex soldier's hand moved to rub at his belly. At the same time, the Englishman swallowed. 

 

“Going tae hurl?” Jamie guessed. Instinct told him to move out the way, but then he noticed how feebly his conversation partner moved towards the railing. It was also instinct that had his arms round the faltering man's torso, holding him steady while a trickle of spit flew out his mouth. Jamie waited patiently while Jack tried to stop himself from being sick with deeper breathing for a few moments, then failed, his whole body sagging as he expelled nothing but bile. With both Jack's hands at his stomach and eyes screwed shut, Jamie was quite sure it was only his outside support that kept the man upright. “Done?” He enquired mildly, and guided Jack back down again regardless of not getting a response, knowing that standing wasn't really an option. 

 

Jack more collapsed than anything, leaning his head back against a barrel, several shades paler than he had been a moment ago. “Ye look pure nick,” Jamie observed matter of factly, “that looked like it hurt bad.”

 

The older man opened one eye to peer at him irately, “I'm sure that would appeal to your sense of judgement.”

 

“Not like that, no. Dealing judgement, that would be different, aye. No like this. Jist haud on, I shall get Claire,” he encouraged with a nod and something akin to interest in his eyes.

 

Tbc


	14. Nomenclature

Chapter 14: Nomenclature

 

Claire felt Jamie's hands snaking round her, a task more and more difficult with her rounding belly. She leant back into the embrace, letting the muscular arms and chest support her not only physically against the rocking of the ship but emotionally as well. “Are ye alright Sassenach?” Jamie enquired verbally as well as with his protective body language.

 

She turned slightly so she could bury one side of her face into his strong shoulders, “I should be. I won't be making the same mistakes again, I promise. I won't be on my feet too much.”

 

“I believe ye,” came Jamie's soft answer, his embrace snaking tighter, more possessive. They stood that way for a while, simply enjoying the closeness before he spoke again, his eyes flittering towards the hammock at the far side of the hold where Jack spent most of his time. “Randall. What shall we dae with him. We arrive within the next couple of weeks an' the way it has been going, I don't see him becoming any more capable of keeping his promises tae his brother and no letting Mary or the bairn want fae anything. I'd hate tae see the lass suffer any further.”

 

Claire sighed. “I gave her something to sleep right now because she's in for a rough time. I've examined her this morning and she's dilated almost an inch. I can't delay it any longer, she will deliver within the next 48hours the most.”

 

“Ye reckon the bairn will live?”

 

“I've heard that fava beans might help the child mature quicker, but I really don't know,” Claire was not willing to take her usual confident approach on this one, “I gave her some at any case.”

 

“Well, either way, we shall stay put in Philadelphia till ye're ligher fae travel,” he indicated her burden with a caress of her belly, “an' I want tae have ye ken that I'm no averse to helping the lass out, have her stay with us.”

 

“That's very generous of you,” Claire reflected, “and I have to assume you're aware of all implications?” She turned, incredulous, so she could look at him properly. 

 

Jamie gave a low growl, “we'll never rid ourselves of that man. But I have made a promise, no tae fight the scunner till he's fit tae fight back.”

 

“But Jamie,” his wife sounded somewhat discerning, “I have doubts that will ever be the case.”

 

“Aye, I've figured as much,” he glanced in the Englishman's direction involuntarily again, “what is the matter with him?”

 

“Severe anaemia to start with, and an atrophy or apoplexy of the intestines,” she fished for old medical terms he could understand, “like a viscous circle-the body had been ill way too long to have the sufficient means to heal itself. It only perpetuates, the cause of the illness being the illness itself. Whatever nutrients I try to strengthen him with, he just can't hold onto them.”

 

“An' those chronic gripes that have him pass out?” Jamie had been around Claire's various patients enough to spout some terminology easily enough himself, “I would say I wouldnae wish them on my worst enemy, only that would be somewhat quaint seeing as my worst enemy is precisely the verra same.” He grunted and inclined his head permissively, “an' I dae find someway that justice has some curious mind. For it would be better fae everyone if I could jest kill him, including hisself. Ye see the quandary there, mo Chrìdh'?” He indeed looked conflicted. 

 

“Are you asking me whether I think you should kill him?” Claire seemed somewhat lost herself.

 

“Ye did promise me ye would help me kill him.”

 

“I think we were both thinking of starkly different circumstances. It would be too easy, a gust of wind will take him,” Claire looked in the Englishman's direction as well, “never mind bleeding him out.”

 

“Would it no be better fae everyone?” Jamie pressed. 

 

“You already said you wouldn't fight him in the condition he's in and I wouldn't take you for the kind that killed a man in his sleep,” Claire established the facts.

 

Jamie sighed, “well, there's nothing tae be done about it fae the time being then.” He appeared quite satisfied with his finding, “I say ye dae everything possible tae make him well an' able tae fight me. And if that will no come tae pass, I was going tae send fae Fergus once we are settled an' secure in the Americas anyhow. The lad can drive a dagger through Jack's ribcage in that case, he's no less entitled either.” Jamie seemed content with that idea too. 

 

Fergus. Claire had not thought about the atrocities committed against a French boy by Jack for some time. It was easier to push aside what happened to Jamie, it was longer ago and he was there in full capacity to determine what he would allow to happen to the culprit, but now a fresh swell of anger rose in her chest in the defence of the pickpocket, making her needing to repress the urge to gauge out the perpetrator's eyes herself. Jamie was right, Fergus had to be given the opportunity for revenge and the only way he would get that was if they were able to keep Jack alive. “You want me to heal him so he can die the right way?” It did sound rather foolish said out loud like that.

 

“Aye. It's merely a delay. An' payback can come in a hunner ways till then.”

 

“I can't imagine what could be in your head. In regards to Jack Randall, you always surprise me with your reactions. You wanted to kill him, and you don't do half measures. And you aren't one of those people who kicks a dog when it's down.”

 

“I cannae say I didnae relish it when the French king made him kneel,” Jamie grinned.

 

“It was fun,” Claire confirmed she enjoyed it just the same.

 

“When a similar occasion may arise, I will like it.”

 

“Are you planning to create these occasions?” The brunette probed because it did not make sense in terms of how Jamie operated. 

 

“I promise ye Claire, going furrit, I will make him pay, no matter how long I may have tae wait,” Jamie held. It was a long way away from 'it is a gift I can be the one tae end that bastard's life' or 'what lies between him and me can only be settled when one of us is dead'. For he has seen the blood flow from his body, and thought his last breath was not far away not once but twice and despite what he had assumed himself beforehand, that wasn't it, that didn't give him the satisfaction he craved as vengeance. It was something else. But what exactly that thing it was that would satisfy him, he didn't know. His forehead creasing in contemplation over the muddle that was his brain, he could do nothing more than seek solace in the closeness he shared with Claire. Everything else would fall into place later.

 

Tbc


	15. A Beginning

Chapter 15: A Beginning

 

Ambling home, as in towards the house they temporarily shared with the Frasers, Jack was in no particular hurry. Even though Jamie spent most of his time busy and often out of town bartering for precious cargo for Jared's ships as his uncle's permanent trader on this side of the Atlantic, it wasn't like the Englishman could feel at ease in the role of a nobody requiring help from the enemy. Claire's expertise and indulgence paid off however in the end as he was now less reliant of support, starting to get his strength back and finally being able to take some enjoyment in food. And throughout, he got what he ever most wanted-being able to experience closeness to Jamie, physically at least. 

 

The situation however was not sustainable. Being just barely tolerated for the sake of Mary and her month old son would not sit well with his pride and so he needed to branch out at any case, reinvent himself in this new world, for His Majesty's officer he could be no more. While it was extremely unlikely that the crown will hunt him down for his treason all the way across the ocean, the fact remained that he could take no official position and was in need of a different profession. 

 

Spending his time in the fresh air by the Philadelphia harbour, it came to his attention that there were many passenger ships arriving from all over North-Western Europe where none of the travellers were allowed to get off bar for those who were able to pay for their trip fully or maybe could give good references on occasion to ensure later payment. The others, who could not pay, had to stay till they were bought and were taken by their buyers. These poor souls were not from Africa, nor were they convicts, they were ordinary people who had hoped for a better chance in the Americas and got caught out by the conditions on ships that did not have Claire's medical expertness on hand, arriving in conditions of awful miserableness, lice, foetor and many kinds of sicknesses from spoiled and stinking water and lack of food, a lot of them dying woefully on board. When a husband or wife has perished at sea at a time when the ship has made more than half of the voyage, the survivor was made to pay by many ship owners not only for himself or herself, but for their partner as well. When both parents have died over halfway at sea, their children had to stand for their own and their parents' trip if they had no money or nothing to sell. And so the sale of human beings flourished, passage had to be paid if not with anything else, but the people selling themselves into service or slavery, with citizens of higher standing flocking to the docks every day to profit on such dealings. 

 

Jack counted his remaining funds-bartered right and using all his money, he would maybe have enough for the purchase of four or five capable slaves, more if some were women or children. He was quite sure people entered the slave trade with less. For starters, he would need a couple to work for his family's daily living as he wasn't strong enough for physical work himself, not that that would pay for much at any case, it was ownership that did. He would trade with the rest of his slaves. And while bartering wasn't a profession he was accustomed to, he was sure he could do it if Jamie was able to barter successfully with other goods. Knowing he could not take his new purchases to the house, it was time to collect Mary and the child and find lodgings elsewhere. 

 

“Who is it?” Claire's voice called out from the back room as soon as he let the front door click closed. It sounded somewhat strange and panicked, so unlike her that Jack had to question his own ears. Long contemplation he did not have time for however as the hollering continued, strained and anxious, “Jamie? Mary? Anyone! I'm in here!”

 

Jack followed the sound to find Claire behind the open door of the Frasers' bedroom in not much more clothing than he had first seen her, on her hands and knees and in a sticky puddle slightly tainted with blood, keening as she bore down, her lower half almost touching the floor. “Is it too early?” He enquired with raised eyebrows. 

 

“You,” Claire hissed, glancing up at him. Withal, she didn't give him much attention-her arms shook holding her own weight when she directed her attention anywhere else than bearing down. 

 

“Where's Jamie?” Jack acknowledged her need for someone else to the man present. 

 

“I don't know. The new market for beaver pelts I thought but why is he not back yet then! The beavers came to life and attacked him?” The childbearing woman was venting her frustration. 

 

“Where's Mary?” The Englishman settled for second best, stepping back one. He has seen many horrors during his time as a soldier, but giving birth up close wasn't one of them, and he was kept well out the way when Dennis was born as well.

 

“I sent her for Jamie!” Claire exclaimed, “it is a few weeks early so I wasn't even sure I was having the pains, it was nothing but a twinge, not like last time!” She took some quick breaths to psyche herself up for further talk, “I told her that if he's not at the market, he might be up at Abington to barter with the Lenape over a shipful of corn!” The brunette rushed the words out quickly, fearing the next contraction.

 

“Abington is about 4hrs away on foot,” Jack presented the fact, somewhat baffled by her actions.

 

“Yeah, well, I thought I had time!” The Lady of Broch Tuarach snapped, not very ladylike. “Where are you going!” She eyed the retreating man murderously. 

 

“Mary would've went on foot, I can probably get there ahead of her on horseback.”

 

“There's no time to get Jamie if he's that far away! The baby is the wrong way round, it's coming out the wrong way round!” Claire shrieked in between hyperventillating, “and turning it is too late!”

 

“Alright,” he accepted the situation. She was an expert at these kinds of things after all. “There has got to be a midwife in this place, I'm going to find her,” he settled for instead.

 

“Don't you dare leave me here!” The brunette screamed this time, all her usual control lost to the contractions. “You owe me that much!” 

 

“Claire.” Jack started on an assuasive tone. “I understand it's difficult for you to think clearly under the circumstances, but you can't move and surely a midwife would be of more use to you right now than an army captain.”

 

“There's no time!” She barked at him again, “come here right now, you need to look!” With that, she's thrown herself round on the floor and onto her side, then turned to her back with great effort, grunting and swearing inarticulately, “you need to see if the baby is the wrong way!” 

 

“You want me to look down there?” Jack's eyebrows raised in suspicion. 

 

“Yes damn it and nooooow!” The last word could have been her crying out though. She pulled her skirts up and growled, “I can't hold the pushing off, you need to do it at once!” She urged him. 

 

“There are women living at the neighbouring house, I could see if...”

 

“No! I will curse you Jack, with more misery you've ever had! Come!”

 

“Looking at lady parts has never been a pastime of mine,” Jack maundered, but understanding the importance of the situation, he indeed got to his knees in front of her with some difficulty in his bones, ever existent from his being trampled over by cattle, and peered under the wet underskirt Claire pulled out his way for the purpose. 

 

“What do you see!” Claire shrieked urgently.

 

Jack peered closer, almost disappearing under her garments, “I...I think those are feet...oh, those are definitely feet with toes coming out right now,” he added as Claire had no choice but to give herself over to what mother nature intended with a mighty cry, “and a body and little arms and Claire, stop!” 

 

“What, what, do you think I can stop,” she whimpered, knowing there were only seconds before she would have to give in to the contractions again.

 

“A red, purple band that I see, is that the cord? It's tightly round the neck.”

 

“Cut it!” The mother to be shrieked, clearly not in control of her faculties. She tensed as the contraction hit, desperately trying to hold back what wasn't possible. 

 

“I said wait, it's getting even tighter that way!” Jack frowned before understanding the nature of childbirth. He searched her face for an answer, one that wouldn't come. “You want me to risk cutting her throat?” He raised his eyebrows. Claire could only growl at him angrily, her eyes pointing to his boots where she knew he kept a fine steel dagger. 

 

Jack gave her one more long look, then used to situations of critical measure and the necessity for stark decisiveness in the line of fire where people behaved very differently to how they would any other time, he reached for the item in question, “well, don't you or your husband blame me for your child's possible death, you asked for this.” And before Claire could get into analysing his meaning, he disappeared under her skirt, making her tense even more, trying to figure what he was doing exactly, but having no capacity to orient him. She could feel nothing bar the contraction intensifying and then surprise at how easy the baby now popped out. 

 

“Is it alright?” She managed to raised herself on her elbows to see Jack emerging from under her skirt with a mewling infant he held in both hands, having abandoned the dagger somewhere. 

 

“I think she's alright,” Jack pronounced with a disgusted face and deposited the child into her arms. “Women,” he shook his head before making a break for the corner where he promptly threw up.

 

Tbc


	16. Egress

Chapter 16: Egress

 

“Are ye sure ye don't ken where they went, Sassenach!” Jamie tossed the chair beside him in his anger so that it banged into the table and made a loud noise, waking little Brianna up, who signalled this with a loud exercise of her lungs. 

 

Claire cast him an admonishing look and lifter the baby girl out her wicker basket to bring her to her chest as closeness usually soothed the child. “I did not ask.”

 

“But ye knew they were going and ye didnae stop them!”

 

“I did not stop them for the same reason I did not want to know where they were going. The less I knew, the less I would be able to answer these questions.”

 

Jamie had a kick at the chair's leg this time, “Jack was mine, I had him!” 

 

“And prey tell what were you going to do with him! You wanted him out our lives, now he is out of our lives.”

 

“It wasnae meant tae be like that! He bought slaves, Claire! Men and women with feelings and human flesh, what do you think he would treat them like?”

 

“Mary is there. He will not cross a certain line. And by what I've heard, those misfortunate who cannot pay their fare, often die on board due to some disease or in service after many miserable years on sea. They are better off on land.”

 

“Why are ye defending the goupin bastart? The bairn is born and fares well, ye don't have tae worry aboot yer Frank anymore.” Jamie finally utilised the chair in the way it was meant to and sat on it, then rubbed his face, making an effort to try to understand her reasoning. “At the verra least a would have thought ye would have wanted tae keep Dennis close, keep an eye on the lad's future an' well-being.”

 

“I haven't given it very much thought. When Mary told me they were leaving, it seemed to me like the right thing to do. Us and them, we cannot co-exist for long without incident. You weren't going to kill him so what logic would there be for us staying together.”

 

“Fergus will be on a ship on his way here before long! What should I tell the lad, that I let his assaulter off!”

 

“Fergus is still thirteen years old. Do you want him to carry the burden of killing a man?”

 

“What time was it they took off?” Jamie didn't seem to have heard her question, “which direction? Maybe a can catch them. They won't be travelling fast. Gies something!”

 

“It was shortly after you left for Kensington this morning...”

 

“So sneakin off like a feartie-cat!” The Scot cut in as she talked.

 

“...as for which direction, I was feeding Brianna at the time, I didn't look.”

 

“Gaun yersel, ye didnae want tae look!” 

 

“Jamie,” Claire felt courageous enough to advance in his direction, explosive or not, “the Americas are a huge vast land, with great portions still laying unclaimed. It's big enough for the both of you not to ever cross paths again like you used to.”

 

“I want tae cross paths and cross I shall be!” He rumbled still.

 

“You wanted rid of the man, for good. Now you will be rid of him,” she continued her mellowing process. 

 

“An' ye think Black Jack Randall will leave it at that!”

 

Claire shook her head in disapproval, “now which one is it you want, to encounter him or not to encounter him. Do you even know.” She sat leaning at the side of the table near him, babe in hands.

 

“Ye don't understand,” he lowered his head, curly locks obscuring most of his face. 

 

“Then make me understand,” his wife leaned over a little to peer under his head of hair. 

 

Jamie gave a slow hiss, shaking his head before he answered, looking away rather than looking her in the eyes, “we are connected, he and I, by blood. A connection that can not be severed, now even less than ever since he shed his blood fae me by his own accord. I had something over him still despite, something that kept me supra, something tae look forward tae and claim, something that was mine tae have in exchange for the piece of my soul that he took at Wentworth and still possessed. Something that may never be cashed now. We wins, Claire, I've got hee haw!”

 

Without further ado, the brunette handed over and placed Brianna into his arms, barely waiting for him to have her in his grasp. “If you think that the life of your daughter isn't worth that piece of your soul that's missing as payment, you can leave yourself and find another place to settle at somewhere on the planes.” She turned to the stove to see if the tea was done because as far as she was concerned, the matter was done with, for good. 

 

Tbc


	17. Trade

Chapter 17: Trade 

 

19th of September, 1777, Saratoga, American Revolutionary War

 

For the time being, Claire sat holding hands with Brianna, her only daughter, her best friend she shared everything with, her medical assistant skilled to the highest degree possible under her direction in the circumstances of the eighteenth century. The rattles of gunfire were still distant, almost possible to ignore, with a relative calmness over the women waiting to be useful and tend to those injured, dispense clean water or help with dismantling camp and a quick retreat if necessary. And then, as so often in battle, suddenly there were cries of help and screams and moans and then they were swamped. 

 

Brianna worked at the entrance of the medical tent, doing triage, providing first aid and deciding which ones of the wounded needed Claire's immediate attention inside, mainly comprising of impromptu surgery like she had once done during the Second World War. Both busy and barely having time to look up, they've not set sighs on each other till sundown, despite being a mere few feet from each other in distance, though at opposing sides of a canvass. 

 

Of Jamie, there was no sign close by. Claire considered this good news, though it could have been quite the opposite. Withal, as a breather, she would look for someone to ask, check if Brianna had heard of anything about her father as the younger Fraser woman would come into contact with more people than her inside the tent. The noise outside had died down, it would be the aftermath and with it, the need for reassurance. 

 

“Mama.” 

 

For Brianna, she would surely not have to search. Her clothes stained with blood, her unruly, red curls in every direction, with the setting, crimson sun behind her, she was like a strange personification of the battle itself, tired and standing on her lonesome, looking driven and purposeful, or as much as anyone could whilst surrounded by death. Claire took a beat to acknowledge her pride at how in control her daughter appeared. It was like seeing herself, thirty odd years ago. “Where is everyone?” She also had to acknowledge the lack of helpers, bar for a couple of older women administering water to the wounded and the everpresent minister. 

 

“Looking for loved ones,” Brianna gazed towards the battlefield herself. Of course as designated field surgeons, a responsibility they had previously agreed to, their duty was to stay, but that didn't make it feel completely right either. “Mama, I want you to meet someone,” she brought herself back to the present and took off round a few stretchers, expecting her mother to follow, then waited for her to stand beside her and put a strengthening hand on Claire's arm in full knowledge that what she was going to say will have an effect given the tales of her parents' history she had been told, “this is Captain Randall.” 

 

Claire's breath froze in her mouth and bile stirred in her stomach, but then confusion took over. They were standing by a young man propped up against a box, holding a hand to his bandaged arm. Not that they would have taken care of a British soldier at this point, and yet she was somewhat startled to see the blueness of his discarded jacket lying on his lap. She lowered herself to take a better look and be amazed. With those hazel, animated eyes, short and straight brown her, thin build and distinctive facial features, the soldier could not be anything else than a Randall. He reminded her more of Frank than Jack till..

 

“Captain Dennis Randall, at your service, madam,” the man nodded at her in earnest. “I would like to go now and find my father,” his eyes bore into hers earnestly, though his head lifted feebly. 

 

“I have managed to stop the bleeding from the gash on his arm,” Brianna supplied, “it is not a serious injury, not unless he doesn't rest and ignores the blood loss.”

 

“Now young man,” Claire got herself together from the shock of seeing a version of a younger Frank, “I do not need to examine the wound myself to know that my daughter is right, she always is about these things.”

 

“I kind of fear she is right myself,” the wounded man admitted, “but I hear you are going looking for your husband soon, and as I am so incapacitated, I was hoping you might not mind a search for news of my father on the side. Unfortunately I have not seen him since the regrouping in the woods in the early afternoon. We were under different generals you see.”

 

“Your father.” Claire intoned, even though part of her knew that the question could only lead to one answer.

 

“Major Jonathan Randall.” Dennis said with more pride than his own name, “ask anyone under General Arnold for directions, they should know. My guess is that he is somewhere North of Bemis Heights. I hope you'd recognise him, I look a bit like him, only he is thinner and older.”

 

“I would say you look a lot like him in fact,” his conversation partner concluded the discussion.

 

“You know my father?” The soldier perked up.

 

“Me and the Captain, we're very well acquainted, though he was a captain of his majesty's dragoons back then.” 

 

“Oh,” he looked unsure now, “it's hard to imagine him as a redcoat,” he mused.

 

Claire felt the need to smile at the ludicrousity of that statement from her point of view despite the circumstances. “He was a force to contend with.”

 

“Oh,” he said again, even more unsure now given her offstandish tone, “I hope I don't trouble you too much with my enquiry,” he looked from one to the other. 

 

“No, but...” She surveyed the scene around them. There was a lull in the arrival of the wounded so if she couldn't get away at this point, she might not get another chance. “I shall haste now. Brianna will take care of you in the meantime,” she promised, even though her daughter has meanwhile wandered off to suture a thigh. Claire nodded in encouragement, and then her mind was lost to worry over her husband. 

 

Tbc


	18. Valuation

Chapter 18: Valuation

 

With her mother gone, Brianna should have been a lot busier in theory. In reality, it was the stage in the aftermath of the battle when all those capable of making it to get help were dealt with for the time being and those more seriously injured have not been found yet, not that much could be usually done for those at any case. So she went to check the supplies instead, though neither her heart or mind was in it. She found herself sitting, looking out towards the fog her mother disappeared in, knowing Claire could not be back yet, but wishing it too much for her to be able to concentrate on much else. 

 

“Anyone else close to your heart other than your father out there?” A soft, sympathetic voice addressed her close enough to make her jump.

 

“Not sure. My step-brother mentioned joining the Revolution in his letters, but I'm not certain if he actually did. But you shouldn't be on your feet, Captain,” Brianna scolded Dennis, immediately signalling with her eyes and a nod where she thought he should be and steered him there by a tree trunk, handling him decisively and helping him sit. “You should not aggravate the wound and make it bleed more, you can't afford to lose any more of that life force.”

 

“Under your excellent care, I am not worried,” he complimented the skills she displayed earlier sawing up his injuries. 

 

“I am no witch, I have the methods of science at my disposal, and while they are reliable and trustworthy, they are capable of no miracles. So I would really like you to follow any advice I may give.”

 

“A lady of science.” Dennis seemed very impressed. “I have not seen anyone like you before, though my father spoke of someone kindred with great reverence, a woman who had saved his life in the past.”

 

“Oh really?” Brianna's interest peaked. She had been told the Frasers and the Randalls' history could never be untangled and it was a curious thing actually finding proof of that. “What was her name?”

 

“Claire Beauchamp Fraser I believe.”

 

“You mean my mother,” she smiled at his startlement. 

 

Dennis surveyed her for a long time, his eyes lingering on her red locks at the two sides of her face. “I thought I heard the Scottish tang on your manner of speaking.” He settled for at last, “you're Miss Brianna then.”

 

It was the redhead's turn to be surprised. “You know that much detail? So what exactly did your father say about my mother?”

 

“That she was the most amazing woman he had ever met. I wasn't surprised to be honest, it had always been clear to me that mother and father only stayed together for my sake.”

 

“So did they not get along?”

 

He gave a little shrug. It was unusual to talk so much about their family life with a stranger, but somehow the words seemed to flow out of him with the blood. Besides, Brianna didn't feel like a stranger, not now, “there wasn't enough interaction between them to tell, but then again, maybe that's a clue on its own. But I do know they were nothing alike, as far as I can remember. My mother passed away in a fever when I was twelve.”

 

“I'm sorry to hear that.” She was also sorry for her own sake, she would've really wanted to meet the whole famous/infamous family who's destiny had been so many times entwined with her parents' destinies. “I did hear about your father too,” the young Fraser admitted. 

 

Dennis marvelled at her curiously, “so it is true isn't it. We were meant to meet. Mrs. Fraser out there will find my father, there's no way she won't. I was fated to be cared for by you.”

 

“And in that capacity I would advise that you lie down and rest. I shall come for you if there is any news.”

 

“I can't rest!” Dennis declared with such excitation that Brianna wondered if he was developing a fever, “don't you see, it's the most marvellous thing to have ever happened to me, to have found you. You're much alike Mrs. Fraser, and I can see now why she had been such an attraction to my father!”

 

“I believe you have it backwards, or at least missing a lot of facts and details,” the redhead frowned confused, trying to conceal the blush after being complimented. Of course wounded soldiers always had a certain amount of leave way they often took advantage of, speaking more freely. “The way you're referring to it, it doesn't sound like the whole story.”

 

“Pardon me for being so forward, but I would be glad to extend my knowledge of the matter.”

 

“It's your father you should ask.” Brianna raised a hand to his forehead, not liking the feverish glint in his eyes. “I think you are starting a fever. Please let me clean your wound once again to stop any inflammation and then you should sleep.”

 

He shook his head, “do what you may with me, but sleep I shall not. My father should've never came rallying for the cause. I know he only took the position to keep an eye on me, he's too old to stay in the saddle days long, sleep out in tents, never mind anything else. I can't rest till he is found, it is my fault you see he was even in battle.”

 

“I can understand your concern. However, I need you horizontal, shall you pass out. This is a stronger disinfectant solution I'm going to use than beforehand, I'd like it to stick,” she reached into her holdall with the reserve medicinal substances they would always keep back for the family's own use, just in case. But then again, this man would probably qualify as something akin to family, if her own footsteps now followed her mother's path as they seemed to be. 

 

“I am not known for being squeamish or weak, Miss Fraser.” 

 

“Maybe so, but you are anaemic now due to the blood loss,” Brianna explained with the patience of a nurse who had already done this kind of negotiation many times over. She then put a hand behind the neck of the still somewhat undecided soldier and gently directed him, easing him down, ready to take more of his weight than he assumed was necessary at this point.

 

Surprised by how much the motion hurt, Dennis had to work on stifling a groan, an unexpected turn that made his movements somewhat uncoordinated and the support proved welcome. To gloss over this, he made his evasive manoeuvre, “anything a beautiful woman such as yourself desires,” he managed dignity, though his vision blurred.

 

Tbc


	19. Backwash

Chapter 19: Backwash

 

Granted that Jamie also served under General Arnold, Claire thought it likely that the direction Dennis had given her was a good place to start looking for her husband. It's not like she knew which revolutionary unit ended up sent where, and even then, they would have all been scattered around as a result of close combat. The dead and rendered invalid were numerous, but the nurse was silent in her this time, the sight of each body she cornered or stepped over only accentuating her wish to get to Jamie, know what happened to him for sure, for better or even worse. The bloody battlefield will be a feature in her nightmares for many years to come either way, it was her first actual outing of a corpse-belittled field so close after the bloodbath as it has always been the medics who brought her patients to her during her twentieth century war as well. “Jamie!” She called out half-heartedly, not expecting an answer, much less strong arms that gave her support, reassurance, consolation. “Jamie! How did you...” She buried her face into his muscly chest instead of further questions at finding him so quickly, not minding the smell of sweat, blood and gunpowder. 

 

“I was on my way tae ye,” he explained nevertheless. 

 

“You're alive, you're alright, oh thanks to god,” she rubbed the side of her face to the place where his heart was beating under. “Wait, are you alright?” She pushed away to survey him at arm's length and every part of him.

 

“I am Sassenach,” he assured before kissing her hard, fervent, needy and thankful to be able to have her in his arms again after all. “Let's get out of here,” he turned her, away from the carnage of men blown to pieces he came the direction of. 

 

“You're safe,” she held her hand at his chest, feeling his flesh, his warmth, the way he moved, “thank god!” She had plenty of time later to reprove him for taking part in the battle despite his earlier claims he will not.

 

“Brianna?” He enquired even though she must've been unhurt given where they had been stationed and how Claire was acting. 

 

“She will be busying herself with admonishing men for getting hurt as usual.”

 

“Like mother, like daughter, eh?” Jamie gave her a reciprocating squeeze, wanting to feel her presence against himself, to know it was really true, they have made it to each other once more. 

 

Claire slowed a little and looked up at him at that, “yes uhm..one of her patients,” she seemed to have remembered something at this point, “have you by any chance met someone from the past in our ranks?” 

 

“I hae indeed,” Jamie's forehead creased and he turned more sombre, “how did ye ken?”

 

“Dennis Randall is looking for his father,” Claire probed, not sure yet they were on the same page. 

 

Jamie sighed, “I have marked the place an' made two infantrymen stand guard so the body won't get looted. A major should have a proper burial at any case.”

 

“Jack?” Claire felt an unexplainable pang in her chest waiting for the confirmation. They were walking stuck together, each swearing not to let go.

 

“Aye,” Jamie sounded quite sombre as well, not exactly like the man who had wished revenge in the form of the other's death for a couple of decades. “His whole front was ripped tae shreds an' drookit in blood when a found him. The uniform was disorienting but there was no way I wouldn't have recognised him. I would've come tae fetch ye sooner but gumption would hae it that it was best tae bide by him till he died in me arms...” He seemed rather contemplative about it. 

 

“Well, his son with thank you for your kindness.”

 

Jamie grunted his acknowledgement, though not necessarily his agreement. “He asked me fae forgiveness in his last moments, an' Claire, I dinna ken what's gotten into me, because I have given it tae him,” he appeared unsettled by the admission, “an' what's more disconcerting is that I'm feart I meant it an' I don't ken what tae dae about that. Mayhap it was that I was feeling indictable in a field of death tae be alive. Cause sure as hell his crimes aren't forgiveable!”

 

“I don't care about that Jamie, I just care about you being alive!” 

 

“Of the many times we thought him dead, he really is this time,” Jamie wouldn't let go of the subject.

 

“It all happened so long past, does it really matter anymore?” Claire soothed.

 

He gave a small shake of the head, “I could never wholly close down that chapter, now it is done. Who would hae thought, here and now, an' with us fighting fae the same side.”

 

“He has changed, Jamie. From the way his son loved him, he was a different man. I kind of regret I didn't get to see that.”

 

“Among the wounded his son, ye say? Is the lad alright?”

 

“Brianna cared for him, so I believe so.”

 

“Then a shall tell him his father died a death venerable and fitting an' that I was honoured tae serve with him.”

 

“But you weren't serving with him?”

 

“Unwittingly, aye, I just didnae ken he was in charge at the time. Our regiment was in trouble when his arrived with reinforcements..I dinna ken but he may hae saved me life once more,” the Scot shook his head in disbelief. “And that is the man I am meaning tae commend tae his son,” he held with resolve.

 

Claire nodded, “I have a feeling Dennis is not aware of Jack's darkness, he showed no sign of such a thing.”

 

“Then that is how it shall stay,” Jamie approved.

 

Tbc


	20. Ceremony

Chapter 20: Ceremony

 

April 26th, 1778, Chestnut Hill, Philadelphia

 

Sure, it was thought to be unlucky for the bride and the bridegroom to set eyes on each other prior to the wedding on the big day, but the future mother in law of the latter did not have the constraint of superstition holding her back from peering at Dennis Randall from behind the side of the curtains as he was picking wildflowers for his breast pocket for the ceremony. From this distance, Claire could not tell him apart from the way Frank looked on their wedding day, tall and jubilant and in a short, dark blue civilian's waistcoat that could've just as been part of the suit her own first husband wore on the day. Her hand naturally went to rub at her ring finger, the one housing Frank's band. 

 

“What's with the keek? I thought ye would be helping Brianna,” Jamie's strong voice and the door closing behind him startled her, “ye'd better jilldee, there's no much time till the priest is meant tae arrive.”

 

“I will be, in a moment,” she pulled her hands apart hastily, knowing that while Jamie never mentioned she should get rid of that old ring, he had eyed it antagonistically on many of occasions. 

 

Her Scot positioned himself in front of her, regarding her contemplatively. “I ken that look. Ye are no as sure footed about this wedlock as ye claim yerself to be after all. An' that aft yer rigorous demands an' pleading fae me tae accept the young yins' wishes,” he grumbled, “what is it?”

 

“I don't have anything against Bree and Dennis tying the knot,” Claire evaded the question, “I want nothing more than to see our daughter happy and it seems to be that this is what she wants.”

 

“She bloody well should, getting with child and without a husband,” Jamie reiterated the argument that convinced him most about the appropriateness of the marriage, that of course after Claire and Bree and the rest of the household had to peel him off the soldier and keep the Scot from killing the young man he thought to have taken his precious only child's honour. 

 

Claire shook her head. Sometimes she still found it hard to think with eighteenth century mentality. Brianna and Dennis loved each other, they only worried about the prejudices in the family against their union and thus kept their relationship secret at first. “Neither of them did anything wrong, they were handfast.”

 

“Handfast, hogwash! How? The lad is no more of a Scot than the very pyramids in Egypt an' as far as I ken, handfasting is no a thing with the English! They're havering!” 

 

“We're not going to argue about this again, are we? You agreed you will behave yourself today.”

 

“Jack Randall must be laughing at me in his grave! I can't believe I organised the burial too! Pure mince, his son marrying my daughter, an' she claims too it is of her own free will!” 

 

“You know just as well as I do that Dennis isn't really his son. Where's the mental attitude you came in with? Last night you were resigned at least to what was going on?”

 

“Dissipated the moment I saw yer chancy look. What is it ye jinking about? Anything the matter with the lad's standing!” He demanded.

 

“No, no, no such thing, far from it,” Claire tried to diminish the effect her own foolishness of showing uncertainty in front of the ever-so-questioning Jamie. And given how hard it had been to make him go along with the union, she would really have to end up giving him an explanation, “it's just well, Frank.”

 

“Frank?” The Scot uttered the word with the usual discordance, “what does he hae tae do with it.”

 

“I don't remember his whole family tree. I did remember that Jack Randall was supposed to marry Mary Hawkins and she was supposed to give birth to Dennis as she did, but quite a lot of the next lines, I do not remember! I don't know who Dennis was to wed but don't you think it would've struck a cord if it was someone called Brianna Fraser? So it could be that Frank won't exist now?”

 

“The name Brianna Fraser meant nothing tae ye when ye looked at that family tree. Why would ye have memorised it especially? It could verra well have been Brianna Fraser.”

 

“It's such a distinctive name, not one of the usual Annes and Charlottes and Luisas and the such that there are many of and so are easy to brush over. It's more of a Scottish name too, something that Frank would have noticed and mentioned for its curiosity if I personally didn't notice.”

 

“Sassenach, do ye really think yer memory is infallible, hm? A lot of water under the bridge I shall say since ye were with yer first husband. Can ye no let him go then,” he pressed, albeit gently. He could have no real quarrel with a man who may never be born after all. 

 

“You're right,” Claire urged herself on, “it is Brianna's happiness that counts,” she readied herself to get out the door by getting her shawl.

 

“Claire,” he stood in the way and held her arms in his, “dinna fash,” he looked her in the eyes encouragingly seeing how her mind wasn't really made up on the matter, “if I've learnt anything through our lives fighting fate is that ye cannae truly change anything. Everything came tae be as ye said it would, no matter how much we fought against it.”

 

“Jack didn't die at Culloden. We changed that, I changed that.”

 

“And yet that didn't change anything, Dennis still ended up a soldier on this continent like ye said he'd be. Nothing's changed. For all we ken, this is how it's all supposed tae be,” he squeezed supportively.

 

It made Claire smile, “look at you, trying to make a space in the world for a Frank, my Frank.”

 

“Och, well, so long as he doesna come knocking through Craigh-na-Dun,” he grinned back, “now stop muckin aboot, the lass' waiting fae ye!” He turned her around to direct her, but not before planting a quick kiss on her lips.

 

The End.


End file.
